The Acute Mastery of Potions
by lunakatrina
Summary: Gen, takes place during POA. Harry had hoped for years that he'd find non-Dursley relatives, but now he found himself wondering if he'd have rather lived in ignorance. Maybe if he ignored it, the truth would go away! Severitus  does not follow challenge
1. Adrenaline Alone

So after making timydamonkey read this, she demanded I upload it XD I'm kind of nervous about it as it's a departure from what I normally post on here...but,_ I'm_ pretty pleased with it, for whatever that's worth (probably nothing, ignore me, I'm not here) and this is a pretty liberal take on the events of POA, at times I try to follow the books, but that never seems to last long...

Anyways! I hope you enjoy this and the next chapter will be up in a few days :D

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor anything having to do with it, I make no money from this!_

**Chapter One: Adrenaline Alone**

Harry stared down at the directions, anxiously gripping the parchment in his hands. He quickly looked between the simmering potion and the information in the book, desperately making sure that the two matched. Swallowing, Harry decided that the potion was likely as correct as it could possibly be and gently placed the parchment atop the solution.

Harry turned to the supply table and picked up a large pair of tweezers and a tray and waited for the goopy solution to finish coating the parchment. Then Harry, carefully trying not to tear or fold the parchment-which was easier said than done considering his hands were shaking-took hold of the parchment with the tweezers and removed the parchment, laying it flat on the tray.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and turned his attention to the other potion he'd been working on. It was gently bubbling away and the timer on his wand said that he still had two minutes left to boil.

Taking a moment to breathe, Harry leant against the work table and tried to soothe his nerves. He'd been brewing the two potions for nearly an hour on adrenaline alone. He was constantly worried Snape or Filch would catch him, and when he wasn't worried about them he was worried about the results of the potions…

At least he'd gotten past all the parts that required a steady hand, that had been increasing the anxiety level quite a bit. Harry didn't know what he would have done if he'd ruined the parchment…the potion was only potent enough to infuse one parchment before neutralizing and Snape would already notice the missing ingredients. Harry didn't want to know how much trouble he'd be in if he failed and had to remake the potion…

And he would.

Harry had to brew these potions, it had been months since he'd found out about them, and he couldn't seem to get them out of his head. This was made all the more difficult since he couldn't brew them over the summer, and his everyday life reminded him of what he could have if only he brewed the potions…what he could have if it were possible.

The timer buzzed and Harry hastily went to tend to the incomplete potion, compared to the ones they were currently making in class this was incredibly simple, but according to Hermione and her stolen syllabus they were halfway through the third year potions. Their class had begun moving at an accelerated rate the year before, when they'd skipped ahead by two weeks and never looked back. They routinely skipped potions they were supposed to learn in order to continue to move ahead, and Harry was beginning to find the rigorous pace very difficult.

No one but Hermione had noticed and she'd taken it upon herself to find out every potion they'd missed. These two potions were some of the ones they'd skipped. Harry felt a bit cheated that they hadn't covered this one in class last year.

Harry carefully stirred and measured out ingredients until finally the potion was finished and looked exactly how the book said it should. Harry's nerves returned easily and with a vengeance as he carefully measured out the dosage, hoping his shaking hands wouldn't cause him to make a mistake.

There, it was done.

Harry sighed and took a deep breath before downing the potion. Now he had to wait ten minutes before it would activate, but the waiting made him nervous and Harry reached for the clean scalpel, thumbing it anxiously. So far, so good.

Finally, finally, the ten minutes were up and both potions were complete and now Harry could just cut his finger and get the results he wanted. Gently, and scared he would cut too deeply and it would hurt for days, Harry slowly applied pressure to his thumb with the small scalpel waiting for it to hit blood.

He didn't have to wait long there was a crash out in the hallway and the noise startled Harry enough that he drove the blade into his thumb which hurt so terribly he dropped the scalpel and drew his thumb up to his mouth to suck on the wound. The crash was immediately followed by Snape yelling at Peeves who cackled with delight, "If you want to get someone in trouble there's an ickle Gryffindor in the potions classroom!"

Panicked, Harry drove for his invisibility cloak and threw it over himself just before Snape threw open the classroom door.

Snape's eyes slowly scanned the empty room, eyes falling onto the potions that Harry had completed brewing. Then Snape stepped in further and magically locked the door behind him…there was no way Harry could escape now.

Dread filled Harry and he slowly retreated back into a corner, careful not to make a noise.

"If you come out now, I'll take fewer than fifty points," Snape said into the empty room, his voice sharp and authoritarian, but lacking the usual gleeful menace with which he addressed Harry. Snape seemed surprised that Harry hadn't revealed himself.

"Stubborn, are we?" Snape asked and he approached the potions, examining them with a careful eye. He also took hold of Harry's book and checked the inside cover for his name, fortunately Harry never remembered to do that or he'd be in a lot of trouble now. Snape's eyes fell to the parchment in the tray and he picked up the whole tray and moved it to an empty work station, pausing on the way to pick something up from the floor.

"I'm going to offer my deal again," Snape said, sounding unusually reasonable, but Harry knew that any deal would go out the window once he saw it was Harry out of bounds and not _any other student_ in the entire school. "If you come out now, I'll take fewer than fifty points."

Harry remained hidden, hoping that he could make it through the night without getting caught. Snape waited for a moment, head cocked, and when no response was forthcoming he smiled nastily and replied, "Well, I'll know who you are soon enough."

A jolt of panic wracked Harry's body when he realized what it was Snape had picked up from the floor: the bloodied scalpel that Harry had dropped. Snape placed the scalpel against the parchment, gently rubbing Harry's blood against the paper…in just a few minutes, the parchment infused with the one potion would combine with the other potion and Harry's blood to set of a chemical reaction which would reveal every single close (no more removed than a second cousin), living relative that Harry had.

The worst part of it was that Harry was too far away to even see the results.

For months, Harry had hoped that the potion would reveal a previously unknown relative, and if he did find someone. That meant maybe, just possibly they could take Harry away from the Dursleys…

Odds were, of course, that Snape would never allow him to see the results and there would be no way that Harry could never get away with sneaking into the class and store rooms ever again.

Everything had been going so well!

Then something surprising happened, Snape grabbed the parchment, crushing it in his fist and flicked his wand sending the two cauldrons over to clean themselves and all the ingredients and supplies flew themselves back to where they came from. Snape's fists, one holding the parchment and the other his wand, both fell hard on the table in front of him and he stared down into the empty tray. His greasy hair fell in a line which obscured his face and he stood there silent for a long time, his heavy breath the only noise in the room.

"Potter," Snape called out, and Harry gripped his invisibility cloak as if it could turn into a portkey and take him away. Snape didn't seemed deterred by Harry's continued hiding nor did he move from his place above the table.

"It is you, isn't it, Potter?" Snape asked, though it didn't sound like a question, more like acknowledging an unwanted chore that was unlikely to go away…even with magic.

Harry supposed it was the tone of Snape's voice that made him do it, but he quickly removed invisibility cloak and shoved it into his pocket before saying, "Yes, it's me."

Snape still didn't move, his body a hard line where it stiffly stood, and he replied, "I knew it was."

Then he moved to face Harry and waved the parchment in explanation, repeating, "I knew it was."

The rough treatment of the parchment made Harry's breath catch and he reached out, desperately asking, "Can I-please, can I see?"

"Why have you brewed these potions, Potter," Snape demanded, harshly, "surely you weren't harboring any infantile hopes that we'd made a dreadful mistake and your parents were actually still alive."

"It wasn't that!" Harry insisted, "I wanted-"

"What did you want?" Snape demanded lowly, threateningly.

"I only know my aunt, uncle, and cousin," Harry admitted softly, gaze drifting down to stare longingly at the hand that held the parchment, "I wanted to see if I had any other relatives…they never talk about anyone…"

Snape's fist clenched impossibly tighter on the parchment and Harry wonder if the bit of his blood on it had connected the parchment to his heart, because it certainly felt like it was caught in a vise, being crushed by Snape's fist.

Snape stared at Harry derisively for several moments before commanding, "Return to your dormitory."

Harry had never felt more confused in his life, "Sir?"

"Go, now, Potter," Snape demanded, jerking his fist, the one holding the parchment, at the door as a directive. Harry couldn't understand, Snape was just going to let him go? He wasn't even going to take points?

"But-"

"Potter," Snape said, voice low and gravelly and frightening in the dark of the dungeon classroom, "if you don't leave now, I will deduct _all _of the points possible from Gryffindor and allow you to explain to your housemates and the headmaster what it was you were doing here."

Harry didn't need to be told twice, and quickly snatched up his things and raced to the door.

"I'll advise you to not get caught on your way back," Snape said snidely as Harry slipped out of the classroom, wondering for a moment when Snape had removed the locking charm…or had he done that wandlessly?

Harry scurried down the hallway until he reached a semi-secluded area and then he pulled the cloak over himself and stood there for a long while thinking over what had happened.

Snape may not have taken any house points, but he had taken the parchment that could change his life…and Harry would choose knowing that there was someone out there who could be a real family to him over house points any day. What's worse was Harry had been planning this excursion for _months_ and now Snape would know to look out for him, know that he could return to try and re-brew the potions. Snape would probably even set up wards specifically to keep Harry Potter out of the storeroom!

Harry leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor feeling desolate. What was he going to do now?

* * *

><p>Harry didn't know how much later it was when he let himself back into Gryffindor Tower, but the sky was beginning to turn grey and he could hear birds chirping up on the roof. He took off his invisibility cloak and folded it up, but the rustling noise attracted some attention.<p>

Hermione jumped up from one of the couches looking exhausted and frantic and rushed over to him. She latched onto Harry, looking completely concerned, but her tone of voice was annoyed, "Harry, what were you doing out for so long! You've been gone all night! Did you get caught? How much trouble are you in?"

Exhausted both mentally and physically, Harry sighed and replied, "I'm not in trouble Hermione, calm down."

This didn't seem to make Hermione feel any better, and her brow furrowed deeply in confusion, "But then…why were you out all night?"

"It doesn't matter anymore," Harry replied, worn. "Can I just head up to the dorm and get ready for classes?"

Hermione looked even more concerned, but let him go, "Are you sure you're okay?"

Harry didn't remember saying he was okay in the first place, but that was neither here nor there. Harry trudged upstairs and threw his cloak and potions book onto his bed before checking his wand for the time. He had a few hours before breakfast and it was incredibly tempting to just allow himself to fall into bed and go to sleep.

Harry decided to give into the urge and shoved his cloak under his pillow before falling asleep, fully clothed on top of the covers and his potions text.

* * *

><p>And that's the end of the first chapter...review and let me know what you think!<p> 


	2. Jigsaw Puzzle

**Many thanks to everyone that reviewed last chapter, I really enjoyed reading your thoughts and comments!**

This chapter's a bit longer than the first one, so you'll get to see more of what's going on, and hopefully you'll enjoy it just as much!

_I don't own Harry Potter or anything to do with it!_

**Chapter Two: Jigsaw Puzzle**

Harry went through classes like a zombie, he was exhausted through and through, putting more effort into staying awake than anything else that happened through the day. This was probably a good thing as he would have otherwise spent all of that time thinking about what he'd lost the chance before and how much trouble he'd get in for trying it all over again when Snape hadn't even taken one point.

It was odd to think of Snape as being generous or nice…and it was also odd for Harry to think up possible reasons as to why Snape had kept the parchment and demanded to know why Harry had brewed the potions in the first place. There were a lot of things about last night that just didn't add up.

A sharp elbow sent Harry forward onto his desk, and he thrashed trying to figure out where he was and what was happening.

Hermione, next to him, was putting forth a lot of into looking innocent, but McGonagall was glaring at the two of them.

"Mr. Potter, is there a reason you can't stay awake in my class?" She asked though she didn't have her heart in it for some reason.

"Just exhausted from all the times Hermione's elbowed me today," Harry replied smoothly, and it startled him that he could come up with that considering how fuzzy and tired his brain was.

McGonagall looked a bit amused and chastised, "Ten points from Gryffindor for sleeping in class."

McGonagall held him after class to ask if he'd been having trouble sleeping because of Sirius Black's escape. Harry didn't want to explain the real reason he'd been up all night so he just agreed with her and she looked at him with a tender expression of concern…it was almost motherly.

She made him late to his next class, which was potions, and even though she wrote him a note Snape still took five points. Harry couldn't complain though, there was nothing to complain about-he'd been out after curfew, brewing potions with ingredients he'd taken from Snape's storeroom…There was no reason for Harry to complain about any punishment when he'd gotten away unscathed the night before.

With a heated glare, Snape handed Harry his corrected homework and across the top he'd written: _If you think last night's thievery will go unpunished you are mistaken. Detention tonight. See me immediately after class_.

Harry sighed, but at least it was only one night of detention and no points…Snape was being _really _generous. It made Harry nervous. He scurried quickly to his seat and tried not to squirm when Snape decided to do a lecture instead of a practical, and covered potions which use parchments to create reactions. Harry knew Snape was doing this on purpose, but there was no clear reason as to _why_.

After an entire class full of Snape's lecture and pointed looks providing a secret message of 'You're not out of trouble yet, Potter,' Harry waited until the room cleared out and he slowly approached Snape's desk.

Snape was bent over some papers at his desk, fully ignoring Harry's approach. Harry cleared his throat and said, voice cracking from nerves, "Sir?"

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, not bothering to look up, "You understand I have been most generous towards your transgressions…"

Harry choked and agreed, "Yes, sir."

"I think it is but a small pittance for you to be assigned detention for at least the rest of the week," Snape continued, finally looking up with a sneer which said Harry would be in all sorts of trouble if he didn't fall to his knees in thanksgiving.

"Yes, sir," Harry easily agreed, "definitely, sir."

"You will report here at 7pm," Snape declared with a tone of finality, "and I would strongly advise you not to test my patience by being late."

"No, sir," Harry said fumbling, "yes, sir."

"Seven o clock, exactly," Snape repeated, eyes narrowed, "or you'd best be in more pieces than a jigsaw puzzle with Madam Pomfrey and the Headmaster trying to put you back together."

Well, wasn't that an interesting picture…though, Harry wondered if that could be arranged, it was probably better than being caught up in all of this not-trouble that he was currently in.

"Am I perfectly clear, Potter?" Snape demanded, eyebrows raised in a way which perfectly conveyed his annoyance at simply having to talk to Harry.

Harry nodded, swallowing nervously and wondering what sort of awful things Snape would make him do during his detentions over the course of the week, it was with this sense of dread that Harry went through the rest of the day in. Hermione took his foul mood as an excuse to grill him about what he'd been doing out all last night and Ron took that as an excuse to blabber as loudly as possible about Harry being out _without _him and Hermione for "snitching" on him.

By dinner Harry had an awful headache and dearly wanted to sleep, so he quickly downed his food and retreated to Gryffindor for a nap before his detention.

He was woken up when his roommates returned from dinner, laughing about something that happened after Harry left. They all shed their robes and began grabbing things to take down to the common room, be it games or homework. Harry cracked open his eyes upon sensing someone standing nearby, it was Ron.

"Exploding snap, mate?" He asked Harry, holding up the deck of cards as an invite.

Harry blearily shook his head and allowed his eyes to slide closed once more.

"You sick?" Ron asked, his voice conveying confusion, "Or just tired."

"Tired," Harry replied succinctly, "and I have detention with Snape later for being out last night."

"I can't believe he didn't take points," Ron murmured with a sense of wonder, "I mean…it's _Snape_!"

"I'm sure he'll take enough in class to make up for it," Harry replied, "it's not a matter of if I'll lose points with Snape, it's a matter of _when_."

Ron laughed and asked, "Wonder if he makes up a number each year, and then decides to deduct that many from you by June?"

Harry grinned in spite of himself and agreed, "That would explain why he always takes more points towards the end of the school year."

"Well, I'll see you," Ron replied, going to head downstairs with the others, but then Ron paused and asked with such confusion that Harry could pretty much hear the line forming in Ron's forehead, "What were you doing out all last night anyways?"

"Long story," Harry replied exhausted and thinking about the parchment that Snape hadn't let him see. That in itself was punishment enough for spending a couple of hours out after curfew and stealing ingredients…at least, that's how it seemed to Harry. It wore down on him as if he had a giant riding around on his shoulders, which would explain why Harry was so tired.

"You'll tell me later," Ron said as if it were a story he'd heard a million times, "yeah, yeah, I know."

But clearly Ron didn't know if he thought Harry would actually tell him. There was no way he was going to tell anyone what he'd been doing…even if Harry had told Snape.

Besides, Snape was a potions master, he knew exactly what Harry had been brewing and so there had been no reason to further hide his intentions…not only that but Snape sometimes gave the impression of being able to read minds, and he had _Veritaserum_…there was no way Harry could have hidden what he was doing.

* * *

><p>When Harry left for his detention, Hermione cornered him and tried to weasel out what he'd been doing the night before because it must have been <em>really<em> serious if Harry wouldn't tell Ron.

Then she started asking if he'd been after Sirius Black and wasn't that a hilarious idea…Harry hadn't ever been _that _stupid in his whole life! It wasn't like he'd just up and decided to go fight Voldemort his first year or like he just happened to find out there was a basilisk that he should see if, just maybe, he could slay. Harry didn't go looking for danger, it just seemed to jump out from under turbans and pipes to kill his friends!

Harry desperately wanted to say he'd remember Hermione's opinion on the matter next time they were in danger, but felt that might be a bit petty. Instead he just muttered off excuses about not wanting to be late to detention and being cut to bits so small Dumbledore couldn't magic him back together.

Hermione looked startled but that moment of distraction was enough for Harry to get past her. Then he hoisted his bag higher up on his shoulder and began to make his way down to the dungeon, keeping an eye on the time so he wouldn't be late without being in tiny pieces.

On the way, he ran into Professor Lupin who, too, was going down to the dungeons. The man fell into step with Harry and began chatting as he was often wont to do.

"I just need to have a word with him," Lupin explained, "I don't expect to be in your way."

"That's a shame," Harry sighed, frowning.

Professor Lupin seemed a bit surprised and his eyebrows raised, "Why is that?"

"I have detention with Professor Snape," Harry confided glumly, wondering if there was any way to get himself minced up before he made it to the potions classroom. Perhaps Peeves could be of some assistance…

"Detention?" Professor Lupin asked in sympathetic alarm, "Oh my, what happened?"

Harry flushed and looked down at the floor as he trudged along, he didn't really want to admit his late night adventure the evening before. Harry risked a glance up at Professor Lupin who looked a bit amused and he asked, tone light and curious, "Oh, it's that bad, is it?"

Harry felt his flush increase and he tried to defend himself, "Well…I mean, maybe…"

Lupin chuckled and told Harry, "I'm sure it's not as bad as Snape's making it out to be."

"But he's not!" Harry exclaimed, confiding in someone on the matter for the first time, "It's like I haven't done anything, but I have! I'm nervous I'm in so much trouble that he's acting like it's not any trouble at all!"

"Ah yes," Lupin noted with an air of scholarship, "the Anger Negation Theory: the idea that there is a set point when anger becomes so strong that it begins to cancel itself out. I'm well-versed in the theory. In fact, I used Professor Snape as a specimen in my thesis."

Wide-eyed, Harry turned to stare at Lupin in terror. It was true then, Harry was in _deep_ trouble, and Snape was likely to kill him over what he'd done.

Remus noticed the look on Harry's face and began chuckling, he nudged Harry's shoulder with his elbow and soothed, "Oh, _Harry_, I'm only joking! If Snape's not even upset then you really have nothing to worry about! Now, when he stops yelling and reaches for his extraction tools…_that's_ when you should probably run for cover."

Harry gulped, not feeling the least bit relieved by Professor Lupin's attempt to calm him. The man was a bit of a jokester, Harry supposed, what with how he'd been going on about Snape…it seemed a bit surprising given his mild and sickly manner, but perhaps humor was his way of dealing with things.

Professor Lupin heaved a little sigh and then asked as though testing to see if he could get Harry to talk another way, "So, what do you think of my lessons so far?"

"They're great!" Harry replied, enthused, and then flushed at his outburst.

Professor Lupin chuckled and said, "I rather thought that more practical or hands on lessons would go over well. I remember what it was like when I was here, stuck behind a desk with all these adults droning at me like bees."

Harry grinned before he could catch himself, and Professor Lupin graced him with a bright smile and added, "You're really excelling, Harry, both in class and in your supplementary lessons."

The high praise overshadowed Harry's dread at the detention with Snape and for the first time in a few days his anxiety seemed to lessen. All of that just from being told he was doing well in his favorite teacher's class…

Then Professor Lupin opened up a door and motioned Harry to enter through it, and that's when Harry realized they'd already arrived in the potions classroom. Snape was seated behind his desk poring over a book, lank hair veiling his face.

Professor Lupin cleared his throat and called, "Severus."

Professor Snape readily looked up and bestowed the two of them with a glare, "Yes, Lupin?"

"I'm here to retrieve my potion as you asked," Professor Lupin replied, with the same tone he most often used with Neville, the one which seemed very much like he was trying to soothe a wild dragon. "And I believe Harry is here for his detention," Snape's glare intensified in a way which profoundly confused Harry and caused Lupin to shuffle his feet and add, "which he has informed me he deserves."

Snape's murderous expression calmed down to severe distaste and he agreed, "Indeed, Potter…your potion is in the covered goblet there. Potter, I believe you'll recognize the potion I'm having you brew as punishment," Snape pointed a long yellowed finger in the direction of a workstation.

A noxious wave of anxiety passed through Harry and made him feel as though he were going to throw up. The workstation held two cauldrons and a metal tray and the very same ingredients that he'd worked with the night before. _What was Snape playing at_?

Harry stood frozen in an odd mixture of terror and confusion while Lupin gulped down his potion, shuddering. Then Lupin stared at Harry with a look of concern on his face and asked, "Are you going to be ill, Harry?"

This made Snape roll his eyes and he stood up and took hold of Harry's shoulders, fingers digging into them like claws and pushed him, surprisingly gently in the direction of the work table.

"Your punishment is relatively straightforward, Potter," Snape told him, and Harry could hear the sneer in it. "I suggest you get to it before I change my mind and begin docking points."

Professor Lupin put the goblet down and replaced its cover saying, "You have my eternal gratitude, Severus."

"I should hope so," Snape growled harshly and with no small amount of disgust. The tension between the two men was palpable, despite Lupin's apparent friendliness.

"I'll leave you two to your detention, then," Lupin said cheerfully and he hurried out of the classroom as if being in the dungeons for so long had made him deeply uncomfortable but he was still trying to act as he normally did.

"Well, Potter," Snape said after Harry hesitated a moment too long, "you didn't seem to possess this inner-conflict last night."

Harry hurried over to the workstation, shoulders hunched and realized he didn't have his book with him and there were no instructions, "Sir, I, um…need directions. I don't know how to make the potions from memory."

Snape, with no small amount, of frustrated waved his wand and directions appeared on the blackboard, and Harry quickly began preparing the potions to avoid even more ire. He still couldn't help but wonder about Snape's intentions in having him brew this potion, it was especially perplexing as Snape hadn't even really been angry…at least not as angry as he had been last year when they'd stolen ingredients to make _Polyjuice_.

Then there was the matter of Snape having him brew the potions again, he hadn't let Harry see the results last night which meant that he clearly didn't approve of what Harry had done…but then why _this_ detention? Harry was too frightened to ask out loud, even though he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the potions.

After Harry was well into the brewing, Snape stood up and swept over to hover around Harry like some great storm cloud though he didn't immediately begin insulting Harry like he would in class. Snape circled around the Gryffindor studying him as though Harry were Hermione's potion and Snape was desperately trying to find fault.

"Why were you brewing these potions last night, Potter?" Snape demanded, sneering.

Harry sputtered a bit and then replied, "Like I said last night, I just wanted to know if I had any other family."

Snape's nostrils flared as he stared down at Harry, looking more and more hostile as the observation continued.

"For once," Snape said finally, "you seem to be behaving as a normal child."

Harry gaped, incredibly confused, and asked, "What do you-"

"Not a year goes by, Potter, that we don't get at least one student trying to find relatives. You are the third student this month I have caught brewing these potions," Snape informed Harry, businesslike, as though he were discussing stocks, "but normally these children are muggleborn students who were adopted and trying to figure out if they have magical relatives or first years who are not willing to wait another year for answers…but you are neither, and it perplexes me that you would brew potions commonly used to establish parentage."

"Yeah, well," Harry said with a sigh, trying to keep focused on the potions so he wouldn't end up in even worse trouble, though Snape's voice was about as confrontational as his lecture voice, "they can be used to establish other things too, right?"

Snape's lips pursed and his impatience began to shine through and he asked, "And you were hoping to establish '_other things_' with these potions?"

"Yes!" Harry insisted, "I told you, I just wanted to know if I had other cousins or something! Besides, we were supposed to brew this potion in class-"

"What we do or do not cover in class is my prerogative," Snape growled out, looming over Harry in a way that made him feel like cowering, "though it is indeed true that I chose to skip these potions in your class because it never fails to cause one of the Slytherins an untold amount of damage," Snape snorted and it seemed almost like he was amused by this. He swept around Harry's work station carefully appraising the work Harry was doing, which served to remind Harry that he did have two potions in front of him that required attention.

Harry quickly returned to work on them, even though he felt very nervous having Snape's undivided attention focused solely on him…

"Furthermore, by not teaching these potions in class it served as an opportunity to advance at an accelerated rate as the majority of your classmates," Snape shot Harry a withering look with clearly expressed that Harry was not one of them, "are quite gifted and do not need the constant reinforcement of ideas."

Harry frowned and continued his efforts to keep the potions from overheating, these potions weren't so tough…not compared to what they were learning or _polyjuice_. Snape continued his hovering, but he didn't seem keen to continue lecturing or insulting Harry.

Finally the potion for the parchment was complete and Harry dropped it in, and then Snape snatched the metal tray and held it out expectantly.

"No," Harry whispered, shocked and with the odd sense that all of his hope was slowly leaking out through his pores, "you're going to…again?"

"This is a detention, Potter," Snape scoffed, "not a paternity testing service."

Snape held the tray out expectantly and Harry obediently retrieved the parchment with the tweezers. Harry then went to tend to the other potion, feeling depressed, while Snape took hold of the scalpel and watched every movement Harry made, which made him feel like a potions ingredient about to be skinned…which really wasn't too far off the mark.

When the second potion was finished Snape looked it over with a trained eye and commanded Harry to drink it. When that potion had begun working, Snape turned his attention to Harry's hand, and he held the scalpel aloft, almost delicately in his long stained fingers. It made Harry ill, but he forced himself to hold his hand out for Snape to nick.

Snape's delicate maneuvering of the scalpel made it so that when Snape made the tiny incision Harry couldn't even feel it. Then Snape drew the scalpel across the small cut and collected a small drop of blood which he placed on the parchment. Then the tray was turned away from Harry and tilted so that he could no longer see the contents.

Snape really wasn't going to allow Harry to see the results. Again.

It was more punishment than anything Harry could have otherwise thought up, even though the parchment probably wouldn't show anyone but the Dursleys, the possibility that it _could_ was bewitching.

Snape was frowning at whatever had shown up on the parchment and he took hold of it and crumpled it up, just as he'd done the night before. Then he threw the parchment into the cauldron still full of the mixture which had imbibed it with magical properties.

Harry felt his jaw quiver in anger and profound loss, but what could he do? The way his fists were clenched, it seemed like the only viable option was to punch Snape, but Harry couldn't really see that going over well…ever.

Snape turned his attention to Harry, and with a disgusted glare Snape declared, "Detention for the rest of the week, Potter."

Better and better.

It looked like Snape had decided to give him a full punishment over his after-hours brewing after all. Though Harry couldn't understand why his detention had been a near repeat of the actual offense and he wasn't about to ask _Snape_.

"You're dismissed, Potter," Snape all but growled, waving his wand to clean up the potions and burn the parchment which held all of Harry's hopes for a family. "I suggest you not try my patience or I'll begin docking points as well."

It took all of Harry's cowardice, desperately pulled together into a sickeningly large lump in his throat and stomach, to overcome the fierce rage that was surely melting the lenses out of his glasses-it was the only explanation Harry could come up with for his suddenly blurry vision. After all, there was _no way_ Harry was crying in Snape's presence, none at all.

Harry finally ran out of the potions classroom and deeper into the dungeons, hopefully he'd get lost or swallowed whole by Snape's previously unknown evil pet.

* * *

><p>That's all for this chapter! More to come shortly! Please review and let me know what you think! Props if you do it in telegram form stop<p> 


	3. Fred and George

**_All the thanks to everyone that has reviewed, I really appreciate all your feedback!_**

Waited longer than I'd planned to update XD whoops! Lost track of time and wasn't online for timydamonkey to remind me (but ha! I remembered on my own! ...even though I forgot when the chapter ended, IT STILL COUNTS) but anyways, here it is! Hope you enjoy it!

_Still do not own Harry Potter or anything having to do with it!_

**Chapter Three: Fred and George**

This whole situation was really beginning to make Harry uneasy, and he couldn't really explain why. Snape, of course, enjoyed making Harry squirm and prowled around like a lioness contemplating how best to take down her weak prey.

Harry supposed that would make him a gazelle or a wildebeest or something, probably the slowest on the savannah…wait, no, that would probably be Neville. Harry probably shouldn't be thinking that way about one of his friends, but it was true! In the rankings of people Snape would most like to annihilate Neville would come first.

Harry would be a very close second though.

"You seem to be operating under the misperception that you'll be released from detention at the usual time if you don't perform up to expectations," Snape commented from somewhere to Harry's left. "I'll keep you here all night or longer if that's how long it takes you to complete this potion."

Not an empty threat, never an empty threat from Snape.

"Sorry, sir," Harry sighed and he returned his attentions back to the very difficult potion that Snape had assigned him to brew. Harry didn't even know what this potion was or what it did, for all Harry knew it could be used in some sort of ritual to bring people back from the dead. It seemed like a very bad idea to be brewing a potion this complex without knowing what it was, but Snape was in a particularly foul mood and Harry didn't want to exacerbate things

No matter that Harry seemed to excel at making things worse.

In fact, if Snape were to be believed, Harry was even more trouble than Fred and George. High praise, that.

"You should be mincing those, Potter, not dicing," Snape growled from behind Harry. "You're utterly hopeless."

"It's not like there's a difference!" Harry retorted.

"Then why, pray tell, are there two different words for it?" Snape queried voice smooth as silk and inviting Harry into dangerous territory, territories where Snape would mince/dice him into potion ingredients with a rusty spoon.

"Because," Harry replied meekly, "there's…a difference?"

Snape snorted, and resumed his prowling, for once not in the mood to encourage Harry to put both his feet as far into his mouth as they would go.

"Quite," Snape agreed grudgingly, "you seem to have developed the slightest aptitude for learning."

"Sorry sir, I'll do my best to correct it," Harry replied, ducking his head so Snape wouldn't see him rolling his eyes as he made the sarcastic comment.

Snape snorted again and tutted, though it seemed a bit half-hearted, "Insolence, Potter, will not be tolerated."

Harry lowered his head further and stared down at the minced (diced?) root of some plant or another and pushed it aside in order to take up preparations of another thing that Snape said had to be minced as well.

Snape prowled like a caged dragon for a while, and it was all too easy to visualize Snape with giant leathery wings rustling about with impatience…rather like his robes often did as he swept about. Course, most people compared him to a bat, not a dragon…but with Snape's propensity to spew insults like dragons spew fire, Harry felt that a dragon was more Snape's sort of beast.

After what seemed an eternity and a half of holding a knife until it turned his palm red and made it ache from all the angles digging into flesh, Harry finally finished preparing all the ingredients for the potion.

Snape looked all of them over with a keen eye and a sneer and Harry waited to hear the man say that they were awful; Potter, just awful, start over and this time do it correctly!

Instead Snape scoffed and tilted his head unhappily, declaring, "Passable. Begin brewing the potion and follow the directions precisely…unless you think you'd enjoy being poisoned or maimed."

Harry was sure he'd enjoy anything that could get him out of this detention; he was quite tired of being stared at like he was some sort of specimen that would go well as a special ingredient in an embalming agent.

Of course, for all Harry knew that's exactly what he was.

The potion took till almost midnight to brew and then Snape bustled over and neatly set about caring for the potion until Harry realized he was only in the way and shuffled back, yawning widely.

"This potion has a rather long fermentation stage," Snape explained, his tone mimicking what he used while lecturing, "but once that's completed it will be ready to carry out its purpose."

"Which is?" Harry finally decided to ask, after he'd only spent hours brewing it.

Snape gave him a withering look and then returned his attention to stabilizing or fermenting or whatever-ing the potion, "It is a very complex identification potion."

Not quite the answer Harry had hoped for.

"What does it identify," Harry needled, swaying back and forth on his heels.

"People," Snape replied. "It, very accurately, identifies every single characteristic of a person: blood type, blood-glucose levels, ancestral lines, magical abilities, genetic diseases…anything a person could wish to know and then some."

"Ancestral lines," Harry murmured thoughtfully, brow creasing in thought, "wait…so it's like the potion I brewed yesterday?"

"Quite," Snape replied. This surprised Harry a bit, but it was quickly replaced with no small amount of anger when he realized what that meant.

Harry demanded, "And you're not going to let me see the results of this one, either?"

Snape didn't answer Harry right away but instead turned to look at him thoughtfully before saying, "I thought you said you would attempt to correct this startling new ability to learn."

Harry was about to say something sarcastic that would get him in all sorts of trouble for insubordination when he suddenly realized that Snape had been joking.

Snape had made a joke.

So instead of responding all Harry could do was squawk in a mixture of disbelief and horror until he choked on his own saliva…

Snape stared at him dispassionately for a very long while after Harry recovered from his coughing fit, for as long as it took Harry to develop a very deep flush that made his face itch with embarrassment.

Finally, Snape said, "You're dismissed Potter."

* * *

><p>And that wasn't the last of it, the next evening when Harry showed for his next detention, Snape slid more directions over to Harry, but this time Harry wanted to know what he was brewing first.<p>

"Yet another potion which will tell of your heritage," Snape answered.

"And you won't let me see the results," Harry asked with anger seeping into his voice, before he could stop himself…he knew the answer already, and from the look on Snape's face, Snape knew that Harry knew the answer as well.

"Quite," Snape replied easily. Then Snape gained a slightly devious look and added, "Though, none of this is really pertinent to the process. You'll be brewing this potion whether you know what it is or what the results are, this is a detention first and foremost."

And that's really what it all boiled down to, wasn't it.

Though it hurt in ways nothing ever had before, Harry brewed yet another potion which could tell him what he most wanted to know but would never be allowed to…at least within these detentions.

Perhaps, once Harry was free to wander about after hours again, he could use his knowledge of these potions to brew them again without supervision…he could give Hermione and Ron money to buy the ingredients for him in Hogsmeade so Snape would never even know what he was doing.

So, as soon as these detentions were over, that's exactly what he'd do.

Even though it would mean he'd have to tell Ron and Hermione about it…and he'd chosen not to go that route in the first place because of the pitying looks Hermione would give him 24/7 for like a month and the befuddled looks Ron would give him all the while asking why he'd even want to know something like that…but that couldn't be worse than Snape dangling the answers right in front of him every night while sneering.

Couldn't be worse than not knowing.

* * *

><p>Things were still pretty tense the next day, though there wasn't much to relax about when an escaped mass murderer was on his way to kill schoolchildren. Harry still found the tension more annoying than anything, and when it was announced that the last Saturday of the month would be a Hogsmeade, the first one of the year, his mood deteriorated further.<p>

He desperately wanted to go, if only to keep from having to ask Ron and Hermione to buy the ingredients he'd need for the potions he wanted to brew. Though Harry was sure that he wouldn't ask them anyway, it was too embarrassing a subject to bring up…something made extremely difficult to handle because if he could just get over himself and tell them, but then there was the matter that the end of the month was weeks away and he'd still have to wait to find anything out…but it was better late than never, right? All he had to do was ask.

Harry tried to tell them, tried to explain, tried to ask them to buy the ingredients—he even had the list memorized, it would be so easy to bring up…but the words died in his throat until it felt sore and his chest felt tight.

Why did things always have to be so difficult?

After breakfast, Harry was herded to Defense by gentle nudges from Hermione, who for once, wasn't lecturing him on his lack of attention…apparently Sirius Black's approach was good for something.

It was probably also the reason why Professor Lupin decided to deviate from his set curriculum a bit and teach them all hexes; he even let them practice dueling which was a fun change, considering most everyone in the class hadn't ever had a chance to try it.

Harry caught onto all the hexes a bit faster than everyone else, and Professor Lupin awarded a nice amount of points for each one that Harry mastered on the first try.

By the end of the class, Harry's chest felt warm and he finally understood why Hermione tried so hard to be the best at everything. It was so nice to receive praise from a professor…or maybe it was just Professor Lupin, Harry wasn't quite sure because Professor Lupin was an ace instructor and really nice to boot so that probably made it different than if McGonagall was the one awarding points and praise.

Upon dismissing the class, Lupin fondly told Harry that he was very talented and a natural duelist which made Harry's smile widen to the point of pain. Harry ducked his head in embarrassment and Professor Lupin chuckled lightly, adding, "If you keep up the good work I'm sure you'll take top scores in defense on your OWLs and NEWTs."

Well, didn't that sound like it was forever away, Harry wasn't even sure they bore thinking about at his point.

Lupin seemed to have caught the stray thought and added with another warm chuckle, "Of course, two years is practically eons from now…"

Harry nodded empathetically and this drew even more amusement from Professor Lupin, it was then that Harry realized he and Lupin were the only two people left in the classroom, though Harry could hear Ron and Hermione talking out in the hallway.

It was in that same moment that Professor Lupin's eyes shuttered a bit and he said, "Harry, I…"

Confused, Harry tilted his head up to look at the man, waiting for further explanation.

Lupin sighed and asked, "I've been wondering how you've been liking lessons?"

Harry beamed and gushed, "They're excellent! You're probably the best teacher we've ever had!"

Professor Lupin smiled warmly at the innocently exuberant praise, "I'm glad you think so, Harry. Now run along before you're late for your next lesson."

Harry beamed and bid Lupin farewell before joining Ron and Hermione out in the hallway.

"What did he want?" Hermione asked, a hint of suspicion tinting her voice, and Harry really had to wonder just what sort of trouble she'd thought he'd gotten into in mere minutes.

"He just wanted to chat," Harry replied. "About class…which if you recall, I'm doing very well in."

Hermione looked deeply skeptical about that, but decided not to argue. She was getting really annoying about being a mini-professor this year; Harry hoped she started acting her age and not a much higher multiple of it. Just because he'd gotten into some trouble with Snape over the familial potions didn't mean he was trying to cause trouble in every way possible. Snape didn't even seem to think that Harry's recent transgressions were terribly serious, so it made no sense that Hermione should disagree.

"Hermione," Harry said in exasperation, "it's not like I'm like Fred and George and going out of my way to get into all kinds of trouble and even though I'm in detentions now, and it's nothing too serious. Calm down, please!"

Hermione got this little confused frown on her face, and looked very deep in thought, but she didn't apologize or say she'd lay off…so that meant she was probably going to take Harry's opinion into account and withhold judgment for now. Harry's eyes then strayed over to Ron who gave Harry a sympathetic look and an eye-roll at Hermione's expense before shrugging. At least he could always count on Ron to be on his side.

As they made their way to their next class, Harry kept overhearing rumors of Sirius Black's slow progress towards Hogwarts and he couldn't help but wonder how everyone seemed to know where the felon was, but no one had stopped him.

Harry thought about mentioning this to Hermione, but decided he wasn't overly interested in hearing about logical fallacies and misplaced trust in authority figures. He also wasn't interested in seeing the fear flicker across her face and Ron's…they all knew why Black was coming to Hogwarts, everyone did.

Thinking about it made Harry's heart pound a bit uneasily, but at the same time he'd keep thinking of the odd dreams he'd been having…of large black dogs running around him and licking his face on hot summer days. They would calm him until he couldn't feel worry any longer.

Harry tried to quell those thoughts before he got fully carried away by them, and instead tried to engage Ron and Hermione in a chat about how awesome Defense had been.

* * *

><p>That's all for now! Please tell me what you think!<p> 


	4. Unpleasant and Repetitive

_**Thanks so much to everyone that's reviewed! **_I've decided to make the chapters a bit longer than planned from here on, which will hopefully work out better...um...that's about it

_I don't own anything having to do with Harry Potter_

**Chapter Four: Unpleasant and Repetitive**

Detention that evening focused once more on the complicated potion, apparently it still needed work done on it while it was fermenting, which was annoying. Harry _really_ wanted to be done with these potions and he couldn't really understand why Snape had decided to fixate on them for the entirety of these detentions.

"Once you're done with those adjustments, I've another task for you," Snape declared from where he was marking essays…Harry was nearly irritated enough to suggest Snape get a giant paintbrush and a tub of red paint because it would probably save him time and hand cramps.

"Let me guess," Harry snapped instead, "more potions like this one?"

Snape raised an eyebrow and idly dipped his quill into the red ink before replying, "I'm sure I could arrange for some bedpans to scrub, if you find brewing such an unattractive proposition."

"No, sir," Harry replied, quickly, face contorting in disgust at the thought of having to scrub dirty bedpans…nearly anything was better than that! "I was just curious."

"Then do endeavor to be curious without the attitude, or next time I won't be so lenient," Snape retorted.

This was positively saintly behavior for Snape…but then, the man did seem incredibly distracted by something. A flick of Snape's wand caused a book to float over to Harry and open up to a page on a potion which would identify any pureblood lines a person belonged to so long as they were no more than six generations removed from said line. It, thankfully, seemed rather simplistic.

With a mournful sigh, Harry set about gathering ingredients from the storeroom, his huffing garnered a swift and forceful glare from Snape. Harry sighed again, this time louder and more empathetically...so Snape took points.

The potion was rather quick and easy to make and after Harry finished, his gaze slid over to Snape, who was still marking, and Harry wondered if maybe he could get the potion to show its results before Snape realized he'd done it.

It just took one drop of blood…

Furtively, Harry slid his finger across a paring knife, causing a swallow cut and he made a show of messing around with other ingredients, angling his hand…just…so…

A tiny drop of blood fell easily into the potion, and something hard slapped onto Harry's face, pulling around his head roughly and Harry realized with no small amount of panic that he couldn't see!

"Merlin, Potter," Snape's harsh tones floated over, "Calm down, foolish child! It's just a blindfold!"

Harry couldn't feel a blind fold, and since when did blindfolds attack the wearer?

"It's a spell," Snape explained over Harry's hyperventilation, "A bit rough, but it has a very simple incantation making it easy to cast quickly."

Hot anger burst through Harry.

"You were planning this all along!" Harry accused, snarling just a bit, "You bas—"

"Five points, Potter," Snape growled, entirely not amused. "My plans for your detention are completely unrelated to your own cavalier attitude toward your bodily fluids."

Harry's brows scrunched up in confusion.

Snape sighed, sounding for all the world like he wanted to vanish Harry like he would the rubbish and explained further, this time in English, "I merely bade you brew the potion, you were the one who chose to add your blood to it."

"Oh," Harry replied, brow still furrowed.

"Now, Potter," Snape said, and the heavy weight around Harry's head which blinded him disappeared, "you're dismissed."

Harry's eyes strayed to the cauldron he'd brewed the potion in, only to find it empty. Snape must've vanished it while Harry was blindfolded…

"Isn't there a law against this?"

Snape looked like he was developing a massive, Harry Potter shaped headache and demanded, "A law against what?"

"Not allowing me to see the results of potions concerning me?" Harry asked, challenge in his tone.

Snape's face twisted into a nasty facsimile of a smile and he looked as though he found something about the question ironic or amusing. Harry found himself shying away from the man…

"No, Potter, I don't think it will be a problem."

Which didn't necessarily mean it was legal, Harry knew, but he also knew that considering the disturbing look on Snape's face that there was probably nothing he could about it…Harry was sure it was because of his age, if he hadn't been thirteen then maybe he could get Snape in some serious trouble for doing this.

Maybe Harry should tell Ron and Hermione, then he'd be able to get their help to research the matter…and yet, he'd really rather not talk to them about this, it wasn't like it was the philosopher's stone or the chamber of secrets mess all over again. This was just Harry trying to get a real family. He was sure they wouldn't understand why he was doing this…

Especially since Harry couldn't seem to put his unrealistic desires into words.

It was then that Harry realized Snape was standing before him expectantly, and remembered…

"I'll just be going then, sir," Harry declared quickly and headed straight for the door.

"Detention again tomorrow, Potter, don't forget."

Harry was pretty sure that could never happen, not in this lifetime. Detentions with Snape were impossible to forget considering all the dread usually involved.

* * *

><p>Harry dreamed of the big black dog, twin glowing suns which reflected blindingly off of a pair of glasses, and surrounding all of it was a bright curtain of soft scarlet. He woke up thinking about the thwarted attempts to find non-Dursley relatives.<p>

He'd just have to find another way, if Snape stopped him before he could get answers, then that meant that he just needed to find a way around Snape. Admittedly, it was easier said than done, but certainly not impossible.

That meant that potions were out, so maybe Harry could turn to spells? Or he could devote his time to poring over moldy books and genealogies…the wizarding world seemed rather fond of both those things so they'd surely be a possibility.

He just needed to get a bit creative and get out from under the umbrella of Snape's ginormous nose.

Only then would he also be able to escape the Dursleys…

There was something not quite right about that…Snape being the only thing between Harry and a happy family life; somehow Harry thought that Snape should have nothing to do with his family life at all. In fact, if not for Snape's Errant Student Senses he wouldn't even be involved in the matter at all.

"Harry?" Hermione whispered softly, tapping his hand with the tip of her quill. It left a few black dots on the back of Harry's hand and Harry tilted his head over to her. "You seem a bit distracted?"

"More than usual?" Harry countered, and Hermione snickered quietly.

"No," She replied with a small smile, "I guess not."

Harry grinned back and replied, "No need to be concerned then."

"Certainly not, Mr. Potter," Professor Lupin declared in his gentle voice, but he sent Harry and Hermione a knowing look which said that he knew they'd been talking during class, but he would tolerate it just this once. "Though redcaps can be dangerous in the wild, no one will come to any harm during my demonstrations."

That was one thing Harry liked about Lupin's classes, they were very hands on and practical, nothing like Lockhart's or…Quirrell's. Harry gulped.

Harry tilted his head and watched with interest and Lupin demonstrated the various spells one could use to fend off a redcap, and with that done he walked over to a covered container and revealed that he'd found an actual redcap for them to practice on.

Professor Lupin picked a handful of students to come up to the front of class and try the spells out, when he stepped off into the shaded corner to watch and critique the sun caught his eyes momentarily and caused them to shine bright gold for just a second. It was then that Harry noticed, for the first time, what peculiar shade Lupin's eyes were. They were brown yes, but more yellow, almost like an animal's would be…curious…

Always easily distracted, Harry spent the rest of the class paying more attention to Lupin's eyes than to his housemates' attempts to curse a magical creature.

Perhaps Lupin was some sort of humanoid magical creature, or half of one…but Harry really wouldn't know for sure nor did he care to do any research on the matter. Maybe he could mention the idea to Hermione…maybe Hermione would get angry and tell him to stop thinking the worst of his teachers, maybe Harry would tell her that he'd been mostly right about them in the past, maybe it didn't really matter because Lupin was an ace teacher and it wasn't really important what little bits made him the way he was.

Maybe Harry should stop with the whole thinking thing, he wasn't really too good with it.

* * *

><p>It was the same again, that night; Snape produced another potions book, already opened to a familial potion and told Harry to brew it.<p>

Harry _hated_ to obey, but he couldn't seem to make his body disobey Snape's orders. He couldn't stand passively brewing _another_ potion _again_ and then being denied rights to see the results of what? Only Snape knew, and Harry _really_ couldn't stand that…and yet, Harry couldn't do what he wanted, he just did as Snape told him and all the while tried to do it, tried to grow a backbone.

It took nearly the entire detention to do it, and it was more difficult that Harry ever thought it would be. Who knew that, sometimes for Gryffindors, even courage came with some difficulties.

But finally, it happened, finally Harry managed to say it.

"It seems weird to me," Harry commented, desperately trying for nonchalance that he wasn't very likely to produce, "that you won't let me see the results of these potions, but you keep making me brew them."

"Detentions are to punish unwanted behavior through unpleasant, repetitive tasks," Snape replied. "Your detentions were assigned because you were out after curfew, stealing potion ingredients so you could brew something unsupervised. I am merely trying to make this behavior unattractive to you."

"By making it unpleasant and repetitive," Harry murmured thoughtfully, and it certainly was that. Unpleasant because Snape would keep what Harry most wanted just out of reach, and repetitive because it was the same thing every night!

Speaking of unpleasant repetitiveness, Harry's fingers were covered with cuts and he was loathe to add another to the vast collection.

"You cannot leave until the potion is complete," Snape needled, "and the next ingredient is non-optional."

Harry wiggled his cut fingers and frowned, but he could sense Snape's eyes on him, probably making the face he always made during potions classes when Harry was doing something wrong and knew it, but Snape wouldn't let him quit or start over until it was fully buggered up so Snape could take points.

Harry decided not to add any more cuts to his left hand, and clumsily nicked his right pinky till the five drops of blood fell into the potion.

"You're dismissed, Potter."

"But sir," Harry replied, a bit sardonically, "it's not finished, it still needs another person's blood, or it can't establish relations between the two subjects."

Snape stared at Harry dispassionately and replied, "You're dismissed, or you may stay and I'll allow Filch supervise you."

Choices, choices…

Harry frowned deeply, but left without another word, but his mind couldn't seem to quiet. He kept cursing himself, calling himself a coward and worse. Why was it so difficult to stand up to Snape in this one matter, he'd never had a problem telling the man off before…it'd been so easy before, but now there was some sort of block, something that made his tongue too heavy to voice the nasty thoughts which swirled around in his head.

Harry stopped in the hallway, gasping, and leaned up against the wall. Forehead pressed into cool, damp stone and tried to make everything become simple again.

He stood like that for a long, long time and it didn't seem to help.

Would anything be easy again?

_Had_ things ever been easy to begin with?

Then there was the matter that he still had two more nights of these rotten detentions with Snape, and Harry had no doubt that Snape would be desperate to make Harry regret ever trying to find out more about his family. That stung a bit because it wasn't like it was any of Snape's business!

But no, Snape had to go shoving his big nose into everyone else's privacy until there was nothing left to do but cower and hope Snape couldn't hold anything against you.

It was hard to believe that Snape wasn't evil through and through, but his attempts to stop Voldemort first year proved he wasn't _all_ bad.

Unfortunately.

* * *

><p>Hermione was babbling on about homework or something, like always which was nice, and Ron was also deeply involved in a one-sided conversation about chocolate frogs or something and Harry was trying to figure out how tea leaves could tell the future.<p>

Harry had begun to accept that nothing seemed to make sense in the magical world, but this seemed to be more of a logical black hole than anything. The more one tried to chuck logic into a teacup the less logic there was to go around…that's probably what made the magical world the way it was.

In first year, Hermione said something to the effect that a wizard wouldn't know logic if his life depended on it, and yet Snape had made the logical puzzle, and now Harry was destroying logic by trying to understand divinations.

There was a connection here, Harry was sure of it.

"-Don't you think?"

"Yes, fascinating, Hermione," Harry agreed easily.

"Have you got Mildred the Maudlin?"

"Have to check my trunk later," Harry replied.

"Are you—"

"—listening, mate?"

"Yes, of course, I'm listening, guys!"

Harry could figure out this non-logical puzzle, he was sure…he just needed to figure out these damn tea leaves.

"—Useless subject!"

"Tell me about it! I keep trying to figure out how these blasted tea leaves even work!"

"They don't!" Ron said with a snicker, "nothing in divinations really works!"

Hermione blew herself up like carrier pigeon after a breadcrumb, "Then why don't you change to Arithmancy! At least things make sense in that class!"

"If Divinations didn't make sense," Harry replied, "then why would they make a study of it?"

"Same reason they made a study of phrenology or astrology!" Hermione exclaimed, "No one knows any better, and the sooner everyone grows out of thinking Divinations is worth its weight in fool's gold—"

"I think we study those things later in the year," Ron muttered as he flipped through Harry's Divinations book trying to find out. "Yep, both of them are in the same chapter! It's called…Fraudulent Variations on Acceptable Studies…."

Hermione let out a little strangled scream and pulled at her hair.

"That settles it," Harry replied blandly, "there is some sort of method to this madness."

"No, there's not!" Hermione squealed out in outrage, "I just don't understand—"

"Maybe," Harry suggested, "you get so bored while drinking the tea that your mind wanders to what you could be doing, and your magic is discharged into the tea through backwash…"

"Nah," Ron replied, "makes too much sense—"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "must find the perfect balance between ridiculous and insanity."

"Maybe," Hermione murmured, "there have been spells cast upon the tea…"

Now there was an idea, the magical world loved a good fraud—just look at how successful Lockhart was! He had no memory because he was a horrible crook and people still loved him!

"That means, that we could control how the leaves settled," Harry said with a grin, "could you imagine, every time we did tea leaves they'd come out the exact same?"

Ron and Hermione could imagine…if the twin looks of mischief were anything to go by.

"To the library?" Hermione asked.

* * *

><p>It was hard to believe that after a fun afternoon trying to find a way to out-fraud Trelawney everything could go downhill so quickly.<p>

Shortly after arriving to detention, Snape handed over a bit of parchment, scribbled with directions.

"What's this one do, then?" Harry demanded, shocked for a moment that his mouth seemed willing to piss off Snape today since it'd stayed shut for so long.

Snape's eyebrows rose and he looked as though he dearly wanted to insult Harry, but instead replied, "What happened to your new learning abilities?"

"Another one?" Harry demanded, anger rising, "Just how many of these damn things are there?"

"Ten points for language," Snape replied, looking pleased at the added punishment as though it were a special bonus that Harry was misbehaving tonight.

"Well?" Harry demanded, "How many are there?"

"Enough," Snape replied simply, "begin brewing."

Harry's hand shook until the parchment rumpled a bit and he asked, voice shaking, "And let me guess—"

"No, I will not allow you to see the results," Snape replied, mouth twisted into a smirk which seemed to revel in Harry's anger.

Harry tore at his hair, yelling, "_Why are you doing this to me_?"

Snape remained unimpressed and merely told him again to begin brewing the potion.

Harry stared unseeing down at the instructions until his eyes focused on "…_Ten drops of blood…_"

"I'm not brewing this," Harry retorted, "I'm done, I'm done cutting my fingers, and done letting you see things that should be and probably are illegal—in fact this whole thing should be illegal—"

"You'd be amazed at the legalities of the situation, Potter," Snape replied, smirk deepening even further until he looked like a nasty, dark version of the Cheshire Cat. Harry fought down a shudder at the thought of Snape being able to turn invisible at will. "Nonetheless," Snape gripped Harry's left hand and studied the many cuts there, "this is unacceptable, you should have mentioned your discomfort sooner."

Harry was sure it wouldn't have made a difference, and Harry could tell from the ugly smile on Snape's face that it wouldn't have.

Snape went behind his desk and pulled out a small, squat vial which he handed over to Harry.

"This is a healing salve," Snape explained, "it should take care of all those cuts on your hands, as well as any future ones."

"Future ones?" Harry demanded, this was supposed to be his next to last detention and he certainly wasn't going to cut himself anymore.

Snape then told Harry that he could keep the vial, he was assigning another week and a half of detention, and Harry would need it.

Surely, this crossed some sort of line. This couldn't be okay. This had surely ceased being regular punishment and become cruel and unusual punishment instead. This had to be breaking the Geneva Convention.

* * *

><p>"I think I've found something," Hermione declared at lunch the next day, "look at this!"<p>

Hermione dropped a dusty old book down in front of Harry and Ron, mucking up all the food on their plates and they whined and groaned about it.

"Oh, get over yourselves, there's plenty of food left," Hermione scoffed, "now look, I think this is just the thing!"

Harry and Ron looked down at the book, and read over what Hermione found.

"…_causes the drinker to sip in a way which creates a circular current…_?" Harry read in confusion.

"Yes," Hermione said, looking terribly excited, "don't you see what will happen?"

Harry sent Ron a look which said: 'obviously not, crazy lady.'

Ron snickered and asked, "Well, what about it?"

Hermione pursed her lips as she always did when she realized she was the smartest one of their group and that was never likely to change, "It means that all the tea leaves will end up in a perfect circle every time!"

"Cor!" Ron exclaimed, returning his attention to the book to read more.

"But wait," Harry asked, "what do circles mean?"

Hermione grinned mischievously and replied, "Unending happiness, eternity, longevity, completion, other stereotypical nonsense about fulfillment…"

"Brill!" Harry said, feeling a matching grin form on his face, he could just imagine how horrified Trelawney would be when Harry's tea leaves didn't predict his terrible death, "for once I can't wait for divinations class."

"Same here!" Hermione chirruped brightly, "Pass the potatoes?"

The three of them ended up eating off Hermione's plate, as Harry and Ron's were still a bit grungy from all the moldy book dust. It garnered them a lot of odd looks, but they couldn't really bring themselves to care as they laughed over Ron's Trelawney impersonation and slapped each other's hands with spoons whenever their food was in danger of being stolen from their tiny corner of Hermione's plate.

After lunch they headed off to Care of Magical Creatures which was normally a bit of fun, even if Hagrid still hadn't managed to find his groove as a teacher. It was the first class since the Sirius Black rumors and articles hit and Harry was shocked and very disappointed to find that Hagrid was deeply concerned by them…to the point where he delayed starting class until he was sure that Harry was not being driven to the heights of angst by worry or something…

So almost half the class and some Slytherins listened in to the embarrassing conversation…why was everyone all worried about him? It wasn't as though Harry's life had never been in danger before, and no one had ever made such a fuss before. Not to mention, he actually knew Quirrell and Lockhart—he didn't know this Sirius Black fellow!

And yet, Harry was beginning to think that this whole thing was really quite serious if even Hagrid felt that Harry should be in tiny, emotional pieces over Sirius Black.

Though maybe not, Harry decided as he watched Hagrid fawn over the beasts he'd procured for this lesson. Hagrid was a terribly emotional person prone to crying and painful hugs…now if _Snape_ got all concerned for Harry's well-being, then Harry would worry, but for right now, he was sure everyone was just overreacting.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! Please review and let me know what you think!<p> 


	5. Legalities of the Situation

**Many, many thanks to everyone that reviewed! Love you guys!** This chapter is super, super long, but it'll cover a lot of ground :D So much ground that we may run out of terrain if I keep updating so quickly XD hopefully not, because I am writing fairly often on this fic...other things...I took a LOT of liberties with canon in this chapter-I guess it all had to come out eventually, lol, so there are a lot of made-up things ahead, beware!

**This also contains a wonderful crackpot line from timydamonkey-who is awesome as always :D**

_I own nothing having to do with Harry Potter_

**Chapter Five: Legalities of the Situation**

Hermione caught Harry on his way out of the common room that evening.

"Where are you headed?" She asked, and then belatedly remembered that he had detention, and she frowned at having forgotten, "Sorry, I get ahead of myself sometimes—this is your last night of detention right?"

Harry shook his head glumly, and also wondered how he'd managed not have told Hermione this before. Probably since she'd been so busy this year, she was taking more classes than were normally allowed…

"He gave me ten more days," Harry explained.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said in sympathy, for once—normally she sided with the teacher when punishments were assigned.

"Yeah," Harry sighed, "it's going to be awful."

Nevermind that he wouldn't tell her just how awful they would be, Harry still just couldn't bring himself to do that, to confide in her something so personal. It probably made him a bad friend, but that certainly didn't make it any easier to say.

"What's he making you do?" Hermione asked, biting her lip, "Scrub cauldrons?"

Harry almost told her that he was brewing potions, but then she'd asked which ones and then she'd want to know why Snape was making him brew familial and paternity potions…and then Harry would have to explain everything to her…

It would be easier to lie.

"Yeah, sometimes it's cauldrons, other times it's the whole classroom," Harry replied, hoping that she couldn't tell he was lying.

"What were you doing to get all these detentions again?" Hermione asked, looking as though she'd much rather think Harry deserved the punishments than sympathize with him. It was _so_ Hermione, Harry decided with amusement. He felt rather sorry for her future children; they'd never get away with anything.

Harry decided on an answer, "Existing. Now, I have to go or I'll be late and he'll probably give me more detentions…"

"Okay," Hermione said with a sigh, "I—I was thinking…"

"About what?"

Hermione shuffled a bit and tilted her head before replying, "Maybe we should go have tea with Hagrid tomorrow since I've caught up on my classwork…or at least work on that paper for Defense together…"

Harry grinned at the notion that Hermione wanted to hang out and do homework since she'd caught up on it, and nodded fervently, "Yeah, definitely, we can talk to Ron and see what he'd like to do."

Hermione beamed in relief and nodded in agreement, "I just feel like I've been too busy—"

"When aren't you busy," Harry teased.

Hermione huffed in mock-offense and demanded, "Don't you have somewhere to be Harry Potter?"

Harry laughed and slipped out of the common room heading down to the dungeons, his steps dragging, but he'd left early so his slow pace wouldn't matter.

There couldn't be an endless amount of these potions for Harry to brew, there just couldn't be. Snape had to run out of them eventually, even though he said that there would be enough for all these detentions.

Of course, he'd also said that nothing he was doing was illegal, which definitely couldn't be true…but he said…what was it? 'You'd be amazed by the legalities of the situation, Potter.'

What was that even supposed to mean?

Maybe, since this year they had a relatively normal Defense teacher this year, that meant that the headmaster had decided to go for someone more sane for the position because Snape had apparently managed to drive himself completely insane over the summer and was fulfilling the crackpot position quite nicely.

There was an interesting idea.

"Harry!"

Harry blinked and looked up to see Professor Lupin, he'd been beginning to look a bit ill and currently looked just completely awful, like he was going to keel over at any moment. Oddly, his voice sounded as strong as it usually did…and even more oddly he was coming from the dungeons.

"Professor," Harry greeted with a smile, "What are—"

Professor Lupin flushed a bit and replied, "I required another dose of the medicine Professor Snape has been supplying me with."

Harry couldn't help but notice how oddly his eyes glinted in the dim evening light.

The brow above the eyes furrowed and Professor Lupin asked, "Harry, are you all right?"

"Yes," Harry replied, quickly looking down because his face felt hot. Professor Lupin surely thought he was weird for staring at him like that.

"Do you…still have detention with Professor Snape?" Lupin asked and Harry fought the urge to look up and instead stared at his own shoes.

"Yes sir," Harry replied glumly.

"Well," Professor Lupin said haltingly and then he checked his watch and muttered softly to himself, "I would walk you down, but I'm afraid I have a pressing appointment that I can't be late to."

"It's all right, Professor," Harry replied, taking the chance to look once more at Lupin's odd eyes which were now reflecting a bit of blue from a torch several feet away, "I've been walking there and back alone all week. I don't mind it."

Professor Lupin smiled and bade him farewell, before continuing on his way.

Lupin was an odd sort, Harry decided, but not a bad sort. Professor Lupin was too kind and earnest to be bad or evil, which left Snape, solidly, as the only evil professor here this year.

With a sigh Harry continued on his way down to the dungeons

When he arrived, Snape was poring over a bunch of books and papers over his desk and looking more unpleasant than usual.

"Sir?" Harry called to get his attention; he was keen on being accused of tardiness just because Snape wasn't paying attention.

"Potter," Snape acknowledged, "I have your assignment ready for you," With a flick of his wand, one of the papers hovered over to Harry who plucked it out of the air.

"Another one?" Harry demanded, disgruntled.

"No," Snape replied, "this is something for you to drink."

Harry's mouth twisted in confusion and worry as he stared down at the ingredients, "For me…but what does it do?"

"Nothing similar to the potions you've been brewing," Snape replied. "A different sort entirely."

Sensing that he wasn't likely to get any more information out of Snape, Harry set about gathering the needed ingredients and preparing them for use. Harry didn't doubt that there was some nefarious purpose behind this potion that Snape wasn't willing to tell Harry…at least not right now.

All things considered this was an easy potion, it took less than an hour to prepare and brew and when he'd finished, Snape came over and examined it very carefully before declaring it was 'passable.'

Too bad Harry couldn't be passable in class.

Snape produced a small vial and turned a shrewd eye on Harry, examining him like he was a newt that needed skinning or whatever one did to newts before putting them in potions.

"How much do you weigh, Potter?"

Unexpected at best. Harry's eyebrows rose and he asked, "What?"

"In order to formulate a correct dose, I need to know how much you weigh," Snape explained in clear exasperation. "Unless you'd rather I just picked an amount and give it to you, consequences be damned. That is the Gryffindor way, correct?"

"What does it do?" Harry demanded.

"What do you weigh?" Snape smoothly countered. They stared each other down for a long while before Harry responded.

"I dunno."

Snape stared at him in disbelief, and repeated, "You don't—" He cut himself off, and pulled his wand from his sleeve, murmuring spells over Harry. "You're one hundred and forty-two centimeters tall and you weigh just over 35 kilos."

"Okay…" Harry said, but really none of that meant anything to him.

Snape then carefully measured out a dose and held it out to Harry and commanded, "Drink, now."

"What does it do?" Harry demanded. "I won't drink it till you say."

"I find it amusing that you've had no qualms tossing your _blood_ into several different concoctions that you know nothing about, and now you don't want to drink a potion?" Snape demanded, "You do realize that you've left more than enough blood down here to allow a lesser man to kill you or do far worse?"

Well, now that he mentioned it…no, Harry hadn't realized.

"Have you come to any harm from the blood you've left me?" Snape demanded.

"No sir," Harry replied, frowning.

"What makes you think I'd harm you now, when I've had ample chance to do so before now?"

Harry didn't like this, there was something telling him not to drink that potion, but he couldn't pin down what exactly it was. While logically, Snape was right, but…

"Drink it, Potter."

Harry took the vial and tossed the potion back, and for a while nothing happened. Then Snape went and retrieved a chair and placed it close to Harry, and then Snape checked his watch.

Harry felt a strong wave of magic burst out around him until he felt dizzy and sick. Thin, but strong arms grabbed him around the waist and Harry threw up all over the floor as the magic grew even more violent and his head began pounding. He was then lowered down into the chair and something held him so that he wouldn't fall down to the floor.

Harry felt really weak and like he could vomit again if only he had more strength.

"This should pass soon, Potter," Snape's voice floated over from somewhere far, far away.

But it didn't, it seemed like it took at least four years for things to go right again, and even then things twisted around like he was on a carousel.

The things holding him in place released him and Harry once more realized that they were Snape's arms. Snape had been holding him, keeping him from falling to the floor.

Weird.

"I see you've managed to recover some of your faculties," Snape declared, looking Harry over with a keen eye.

"You poisoned me," Harry gasped out.

"Far worse," Snape countered, "the potion you prepared has made you…receptive to outside magical influences."

"What does that mean?" Harry demanded, but his voice wavered and it probably ruined the effect.

"It means, Potter," Snape replied cruelly, "that you'd do very well to avoid having any spells cast upon you for the next 36 hours. The effects will be drastically increased since none of your own defensive magic will be able to protect you."

"I can't do magic?" Harry demanded in horror.

"You can perform magic," Snape explained sounding a bit exasperated, "but each witch and wizard has a bit of innate protective magic which shields them from the worst effects of most spells. I have removed that bit of innate protective magic for 36 hours. You'll be fine by Sunday morning."

"You—you—"

"I waited until the weekend to do this," Snape continued as if he couldn't tell Harry wanted to kill him, "because I figured it would be easier for you to avoid hexes within your own common room, as opposed to say during Defense Against the Dark Arts or Charms courses."

How like Snape to perfectly time evil so as to make it sound good.

"Why would you do this?" Harry demanded.

"You'll find out tomorrow night, won't you, Potter?" Snape retorted, with an evil sneer marring his ugly face.

"I'll find out now!" Harry yelled, voice breaking halfway through and going all girlish. Harry flushed and Snape snorted in clear amusement of Harry's changing voice. "Tell me, I'm done with listening to you blindly and throwing my blood around! Tell me or I won't come back!"

"You'll come back or I'll give you a month of detention with Filch and dock fifty points for each detention you miss," Snape threatened, voice silky smooth and as dangerous as a lethifold, "and I'll tell you tomorrow evening, before we begin with your detention why I gave you this potion."

Harry had no choice but to agree.

* * *

><p>Without the protective shield between him and the rest of the world, Harry realized with no small amount of wonder just how much he had been blocking from himself. When his alarm clock had gone off this morning, he woke with a start when he realized it was <em>reaching<em> _out_ to nudge him awake magically as well as noisily.

Once awake the castle began to playfully nudge at him, now that it could and Harry was hard-pressed to explain why he kept bursting into laughter whenever the castle managed to tickle him magically.

Then there was the way breakfast all but attacked him when it appeared—it was so desperate to be eaten, and the way the magic reflected off the golden eyes of a half-dead-looking Professor Lupin so that it looked like his eyes held tiny suns.

When He, Ron and Hermione left the castle to visit Hagrid, Harry couldn't help but notice the curious way magic floated on the wind like fallen leaves until it noticed him walking past and attached onto him like colorful burrs.

During tea with Hagrid, the warming spells seeped out of the tea and came to cuddle with Harry's hands. Once they'd finished visiting Hagrid, the three of them headed off to sit by the lake. They ignored the cold and lay down on the cool grass and chatted while Harry watched small tendrils of magic rise up off the lake and come to wrap, moist and freezing, around him until the warming charms left his hands to mingle with the lake magic until he stopped shivering.

If this was what being receptive to magic meant, Harry was sure he could spend his whole life being this way.

Though, that was probably because Harry hadn't been hexed or anything else yet. With how quickly and easily magic noticed him and interacted with him, Harry could imagine how awful things could be if Ron's magic tried to attack him rather than pull his sleeve to say "Hey, listen," before Ron began to speak.

Fortunately, as Snape had predicted Harry didn't have to worry about being hexed as he spent all his time in the common room—studiously avoiding food from the twins—or with Ron and Hermione.

But that didn't keep Harry from worrying about why Snape had made him like this, he had to have something really awful in mind to make Harry so defenseless.

* * *

><p>Harry really just wanted to punch Snape's giant, nasty nose right back into his head—no less than the bastard rightly deserved.<p>

Snape had orchestrated everything perfectly just like the nasty Slytherin he is; he'd made Harry more susceptible to the influence of magic so that tonight when he tied Harry down to a chair using magic, Harry could do nothing to fight them off. Not that he was sure he could fight them off, but it currently felt like Harry had been stuck inside a concrete block.

Then he'd blind-folded Harry and, true to his word, explained that everything had been done so that he could cast all sorts of familial spells, but mostly paternity charms, without Harry being able to see the results.

It was simply _not on_.

To top it all off, Harry could feel something welling up around him, it reminded him of the feeling he'd gotten before he'd blown up Aunt Marge. However, Snape didn't seem to be blowing up, and Harry really, _really_ wished he would…wished the worst upon him, as he hummed and murmured incomprehensibly over the results of the spells before he scratched them down onto parchment.

Harry wanted the quill or wand to burn up in Snape's fingers so this nonsense would stop.

_Just stop_.

The quill paused in the middle of scratching something out, and Harry tensed hoping that something awful had happened. Something Snape fully deserved.

The blindfold over Harry's eyes loosened and Harry ripped it off hastily, furious over the situation and glared deeply at Snape, who was holding a thin, white stick, which Harry decided was a naked quill, in his hand. Snape's eyebrow was raised inquisitively and he asked, "Did you mean to do this?"

Harry then took note of the tiny smattering of ashes across a parchment covered with illegible scribbles.

"Did I mean to do what?" Harry asked looking between the ashes and the naked quill, though it was clear what had happened…

"Did you mean to damage my personal property?" Snape demanded, temper beginning to flare, "Was this simply an adolescent temper tantrum or did you have malicious intent?"

It was clear to Harry which was the correct answer to keep on Snape's good side, but Harry had never been there before and he certainly didn't want to be there now, not when Snape was being such a bastard.

"I did it," Harry admitted nonchalantly, shifting his shoulders.

"I shall assume that to mean that you did it on purpose," Snape replied, eyes narrowed dangerously. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor for damaging a professor's property."

Fifteen points wasn't too bad, Harry shrugged, and Snape flicked his wand and Harry's head was immediately captured by the blindfold which twisted tightly around his head.

"Another fifteen points, since you didn't seem to mind the last batch."

Harry wondered if he could manage to burn that parchment too.

When a wrathful Snape ripped the blindfold off himself, Harry decided that this could be a very useful skill indeed.

* * *

><p>Harry woke once more to the odd sensation that his alarm clock was nudging him awake, and worried that the potion hadn't worn off. Once he'd risen from bed though, it was pretty clear that it had worn off. Harry found it very difficult to spot the colorful bits of magic, but every so often he'd catch a hint of magic in his periphery.<p>

Harry felt cheered a bit that he'd never have to go his whole life without seeing magic again, but wondered if that meant whispers of the other effects remained behind…Harry wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

Harry dressed quickly and rushed downstairs with Ron, hungry for breakfast after last night's detention, but they were stopped before they could leave the common room.

"You lost one hundred points from Gryffindor?" Hermione demanded in outrage.

"It was worth it," Harry replied with a grin, fondly remembering burning things in Snape's office until he was kicked out early.

"Mate," Ron said with the tone of speaking to a slow infant, "nothing's worth one hundred points."

Harry rolled his eyes at that, but knew that no one in the house would be likely to take it well…it was just good that he hadn't gone down to breakfast yet, he could imagine everyone being all up in arms over the lost points. He knew he could get Ron and Hermione back on his side before they're reached the Great Hall though, because what he'd done was pretty impressive.

"Well, what did you do?" Hermione demanded in a huff, crossing her arms across her chest and looking far too stern, rather like a tiny McGonagall. "If it was so worth it, then surely you won't mind sharing?"

Harry looked her over for something that she wouldn't mind if he burned, but couldn't see anything, and he turned his attention to Ron who had, fortunately, picked up what looked like a dropped note from the floor.

It took a fair amount of concentration, since he wasn't angry at all, but then the parchment lit up weakly in Ron's hands before burning out. Harry would clearly need a lot more practice so that he could produce the strong flames of the night before that burned so quickly, rather like alcohol that had been exposed to fire.

Hermione and Ron stared at him in shock and awe.

"I figured out I could do that last night," Harry explained further, pride seeping into his voice, "I kept burning Snape's stuff until he threw me out an hour early…it's not so nice now, but when I was so angry last night…"

"Wandless magic," Hermione breathed out in amazement, "that's incredible!"

Ron was still too stunned to speak and he kept glancing from Harry to the half burnt bit of parchment in his hands.

"But," Harry continued, "He had to take points, since I already have detention assigned for the foreseeable future."

That seemed to bring them back to the matter that Harry had an impressive ability to lose an insane amount of points while most people slept quietly in their beds.

"I tried to burn Snape up as well," Harry confided, "but who knew his robes were fireproof."

Hermione and Ron stared dumbly at Harry like he couldn't have possibly said that and if he did it must've been sarcastic…right? Then they seemed to realize that they were just standing around gaping so they said whatever they could think to. Hermione sighed and replied, "Well, honestly, he does teach a class where teenagers use fire, it only makes sense…"

"It was a nice try though," Ron said sympathetically.

Unfortunately, none of the other Gryffindors seemed interested in hearing this part of the story and simply glared at Harry or tried to hex him. Good thing that potion had worn off and Harry could tell it had because he was now studiously aware of the way spells bounced off a bit before absorbing into his skin. But if the potion hadn't worn off, Harry suspected he would probably be dead from boils by now.

The hexes did nothing to spoil Harry's good mood though. He felt like he'd won gold in the Olypmics, and the feeling only increased when he saw the way Snape's face twisted in unholy rage at breakfast.

Yes, Harry had definitely won that round, and it was about time he'd won something in this whole nasty mess of detentions and withheld information.

Harry's outburst even led to a bit of creativity in Snape's detention plans, he had Harry look up spells which could extinguish fires, and then write down their incantation and the results produced by the spells. The detention lasted for hours and Harry's hand felt nearly raw from holding a quill for so long, but Harry now felt confident that he could put out every single fire he decided to start.

* * *

><p>"Professor Trelawney!" Harry exclaimed, "This isn't in the book!"<p>

Excited, she rushed over, jewelry tinkling as she moved to find out what Harry had seen in his tea leaves. Harry held the cup up to show her and she gasped in shock.

"Is it that bad?" Harry asked, a hint of alarm entering into his voice. By this time Harry had managed to garner the attention of most of the class, and Lavender and Parvati began to look deeply interested in Harry's future or lack thereof.

"I'm not sure how this could happen," Trelawney gasped, looking like Harry's cup predicted the end of life itself. Harry glanced at Hermione, wondering if she'd possibly gotten the meaning of the circle wrong, but since she was grinning Harry decided it was okay to keep up the act.

"Please, Professor," Harry said, trying to appear as earnest as he possibly could, "tell me what it means, if I'm going to die I'd like to have time to prepare!"

Lavender and Parvati gasped in horror and drew forward in anticipation, they were such vultures.

Professor Trelawney staggered back to her desk, knuckles white where they clenched around Harry's flowery teacup and she exclaimed, "I must find out more about this, everyone out, I must research! This can't be!"

Quickly, everyone gathered their things and hurried out the trapdoor like they were worried Trelawney would change her mind. Once the trapdoor snapped shut, Harry turned to look at Ron and Hermione, a huge grin spreading across his face.

Slowly, matching grins began to spread across his friends' faces as well.

"Who knew your eternal happiness was such a tragedy, mate!" Ron exclaimed, and the three of them began laughing at their success and headed off together.

"So," Hermione said, "I think you should do it again, alone for a couple more classes, and then I'll pitch in too—she'll probably think it means we'll get married or something. Give her a great romance to moon over for a while."

"Then I'll join in," Ron said excitedly, "and throw that theory out the window completely!"

"It'll be brilliant!" Harry breathed out in contentment, "I'm glad we're doing this, I need a bit of fun in-between the detentions!"

Hermione frowned momentarily as though she'd forgotten about them, "How many do you have left?"

"Well," Harry said slowly, mentally tallying them all, "I've had nine so far, and he's assigned 17 nights, so just eight more."

"Over halfway through, mate," Ron said encouragingly.

* * *

><p>That night, the tenth night of detention, the complex ancestryidentification potion was completed and Harry had to donate every sort of sample the creator of the potion could think up, and he was a creative man. Well, that's what Snape said…Snape said that anyone who would think of utilizing bile as a way to extract genetic information had to be thinking at a higher level than the average man and that Harry should be thankful the potion didn't call for cerebral fluids.

Harry was alarmed that he had spent enough time with Snape to detect the sarcasm in that comment, but he was thankful that Snape seemed just as annoyed as Harry at the ridiculous fluids that had to be spelled out of Harry's body.

The eleventh night, Snape drew a giant pentagram on the classroom floor and had Harry hold clovers in one hand and a snake skin in the other while Snape chanted in a crazy language and lit candles.

That one wasn't so bad, the ritual also called for Harry to drink obscene amounts of tequila…though the whole voodoo aspect of the ritual left Harry checking himself over for delayed effects for two weeks.

The twelfth night, Harry walked in and saw Snape wearing a wreath on his head and yelled; "Now you're just making shit up!" Then he turned and walked out of the room, hurrying back to Gryffindor tower.

The thirteenth night, Harry seriously began to wonder how Snape was coming up with these things.

The fourteenth night, Harry considered asking Dumbledore to have Snape institutionalized.

The fifteenth night, Snape gave him a ritual robe and told him to report at midnight; Harry decided he should probably write goodbye letters to his friends so they could ask Snape where to gather his remains

The sixteenth night, Snape was hovering over a nearly completed potion and upon seeing Harry demanded a piece of parchment.

"A quality one," Snape growled, "not that rubbish you use in class, one that would be used in—"

"A potion," Harry completed.

Snape cast him an impatient glance, "Quite."

"What's that do then?" Harry asked, plopping atop a nearby work table and staring at Snape with interest. Now that Harry had something Snape wanted he was willing to press his advantage.

"It is the Veritas Potion," Snape replied, "it is one of the few truth potions which can be used upon parchments to verify that what is written is also true."

"Why do you need something like that?" Harry asked curiously.

"For your detention tonight, you will be brewing the same potion which put you here in the first place," Snape replied, holding a hand out for the parchment. He was dead wrong if he thought that was all Harry would want.

"Will you show me the results?" Harry demanded shrewdly.

Snape frowned, but replied, "I will show you the results tomorrow, upon the completion of your last detention."

"Do you promise?"

Snape seemed to gain a peculiar look, almost like a knowing, secretive smile, but he agreed to show Harry and the results would be true because of the Veritas potion—all Harry had to do was survive two more detentions, including this one.


	6. Healing Balms

**Many thanks to everyone that reviewed that last chapter! Thanks for reading!** This chapter is another where I take a few liberties with things that don't exist in the books, but I felt it was a good addition XD and worry not! Snape does keep his promise this chapter and (!) The detentions will finally end!

Now on with the chapter!

** Chapter Six: Healing Balms**

The next night, there was a work station all set up with ingredients and cauldron, and once he had Snape's attention, Harry demanded, "What's this one do then?"

"It creates a highly specialized balm which can soothe nearly any sort of skin irritation or damage. It is normally used third and fourth degree burns." Snape explained, "It is one of the strongest healing balms in existence."

That didn't seem to fit in with the continuity of the previous detentions; though there had been that fire safety detention...maybe it fit in that way? No, that didn't really make sense.

Snape was up to something, this had to be especially true because Snape said he'd stop hiding things tonight. There was a reason for this, just as there had been a reason for everything else Snape had done. Besides, Slytherins couldn't do anything simply; they worked in elaborate plots and spoke in long, egomaniacal monologues. Odd sort, Slytherins.

Harry frowned and approached the workbench, "So why am I brewing this?"

"For your detention," Snape replied blandly. The world would surely end if the man ever answered a question directly, Harry was sure.

"Ha, ha," Harry scoffed, "I get it, I'll stop asking questions. At least this one doesn't call for my blood."

Snape snorted and agreed, "Quite."

Harry studied the directions of the potion and set about preparing the ingredients, but when he touched the first one his skin began to tingle unpleasantly and when Harry drew his hand back he discovered it was bright red. Harry frowned and reached out to touch it again, testing…the longer Harry held his hand in place the more unpleasant the tingling grew and the redder his hand became.

Harry decided he'd return to that later and reached for another ingredient, a curious brown root shaped like a human foot, but when he touched that one sharp pain flew through Harry's hand and he immediately snapped his hand back to discover that where contact had been made black bruises were now forming. Wide-eyed Harry stared at his hand in horror.

"Problem Potter?"

"I think you forgot to give me gloves sir," Harry replied, emphasis on the 'forgot,' the bastard probably planned it this way.

"There is nothing inherently dangerous about any of those ingredients, Potter," Snape replied blandly, face slack with some odd emotion that Harry couldn't make sense of when it was attached to Snape's head.

"Then what's all this?" Harry demanded, holding out his black and red hand for Snape to examine.

"Which ingredient gave you that reaction?" Snape asked, rising to come join Harry by the worktable. Harry pointed them out and Snape nodded slowly, before asking, "Touch all the rest."

"Why?" Harry demanded, "Are they going to hurt me too?"

"There's only one way to find out," Snape replied, "again there is nothing inherently dangerous about these ingredients, they are in fact used in a potion which heals skin."

Frowning Harry set about tapping each and every ingredient, each one giving a different and painful or unpleasant reaction. Snape watched this all happen in silence before he reached down and tapped them as well, garnering the same reactions from them that Harry did.

"What…?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing in confusion, "I don't understand…why…?"

"There is a dominant gene in most magical families," Snape said blandly, face looking like he'd sucked on a moldy lemon, "which causes an odd allergy, a skin allergy, to a certain class of magical plants. It has been largely bred out, but there are still some families where it still exists such as the Blacks, the Parkinsons, the Diggorys, the Bells, and the Princes."

Well, that didn't mean all that much to Harry, really. He didn't know of any pureblood families but the Weasleys and Malfoys…

"The ingredients of this potion," Snape continued, "consists entirely of plants from that class."

"So I'm allergic to them?" Harry asked, "So what?"

"Neither James Potter nor Lily Evans had the allergy, and as I stated before, the allergy is a dominant trait. In order for you to have it, one of your parents must have," Snape replied, but it looked like he was now trying to spit up the moldy lemon he'd been sucking on before.

"But…but that doesn't make any sense," Harry said slowly, "who else could I have gotten it from?"

Snape coughed, and his voice sounded terribly hoarse when he answered, "Your _real_ father."

Harry's heart began pounding in his chest, even though the accusation hadn't really begun to sink into his head, "But James Potter is my real father."

Snape laughed and the sound was so awful that it made chills run down Harry's spine and said, "I think I'm more qualified to make claims about your parentage than you are, Potter."

And Snape was right, Harry realized with dawning horror, "That's what all of this has been about! You saw that first night, and you didn't believe—_That's_ why you wouldn't show me!"

"Ah, but Mr. Potter," Snape said, "You don't even know what it is that I couldn't accept as being true."

Another chill spun down Harry's spine and gave him goosebumps, "You," Harry's mouth felt dry and his licked his lips, "you said that you would tell me…tonight."

"So I did," Snape agreed, easily, as though it was terribly magnanimous of him to share this terrible information. "You recall, I mentioned a few families earlier which carries the gene—"

"Yeah," Harry replied, "The Diggorys and the Bells and…"

"The Princes," Snape added in easily. "Do you know anything about the Princes?"

"No, sir, and I've never been all that good at putting puzzles together sir," Harry yelled, frustrated with everything that was being implied here. "I don't know what you're trying to spell out to me but maybe you should stop pussyfooting around and just get at it!"

"Very well, Potter," Snape said, "You've seen that I possess the allergy as well, and that is because I inherited it from my mother, whose maiden name was Prince."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Harry demanded, voice going a bit high at the end which caused his angry flush to deepen.

"It has to do with everything," Snape replied, each word holding a harsh and hidden meaning that made everything was suddenly clear in a horrifying way.

Looking more cruel and twisted than Harry had ever seen before, Snape advanced on Harry looking dangerous…like Harry imagined a serial killer would look just before killing his next victim. Kind of apt, really, since Snape was a serial killer of happiness and he was poised to destroy all of Harry's sense of well-being.

Harry wondered if this made Snape some sort of dementor.

Probably just demented…

As Snape came forward, he reached into his sleeve, the one which Harry knew hid his wand and his eyes widened in confusion…just confusion, there was no way he was scared of Snape. But, there was no reason he shouldn't be scared of whatever it was Snape had up his sleeve.

It was then that Snape withdrew a folded parchment; Harry could recognize the purplish tint of the Veritas potion he'd brewed the night before. He knew, with dawning horror, that it was the parchment which they'd also used in the familial potion after dipping it in the truth potion; he knew what Snape was going to show him.

With a rush filling his head till he was dizzy and unable to make sense of any of the sounds coming from Snape's mouth, Harry slowly backed away. His uneasy and clumsy steps lining up with the heavy thuds of his heart, and Snape held the unfolded purple parchment out to him.

Harry stared blankly at it, the words blurring into fuzzy shapes of nothingness, and his eyes kept straying to Snape's stained fingers holding it.

He couldn't read the words.

He couldn't hear anything Snape was saying.

It didn't matter.

Snape had already told him, and his actions proved what would be on the purple parchment, but _it couldn't be right_.

Harry snatched the parchment from Snape's fingers, feeling it crunch into the palm of his hand.

"You're lying," Harry yelled, but he could only barely hear it over the noise…the awful noise of his own thoughts and terror. "You're lying!"

There was only one thing left to do, Harry turned heel and ran as fast as he could.

Harry expected to hear Snape's laughter following after him, amusement from Harry's horror, but all Harry could hear was his heart and the pound of his feet on the stone as he ran as fast as he could from what he'd seen and heard.

Harry didn't stop until he'd arrived back in the Gryffindor common room, and ducked inside and leaned against the wall, panting…it was then that he slowly became aware of the parchment he still held in his hand and the fact that the common room was still mostly full.

He couldn't handle this right now, and he certainly wanted stop handling the damning parchment as quickly as possible.

Harry quickly moved toward the dormitory stairs, pointedly ignoring his housemates concerned calls. After all, it was clear he'd dodged out of detention early-not to mention his panic, it was clear to everyone that something was up and Harry needed to get rid of the damn parchment before anyone nosy could get close enough to read it.

Harry pounded up the stairs as quickly as he could, and entered the third year dormitory.

"Harry?" Neville asked in shock, watching Harry in confusion.

"Neville, please, just get out," Harry said, his voice sounded shaky and faint. He cleared his throat and added, voice more normal this time, "Please, Nev, I just need to be alone for a bit."

"Harry!" Hermione and Ron cried at the same time arriving in the dorm right behind him, and Harry stumbled away in shock, eyes wide open and he clenched his fist even tighter around the parchment, no, no, no…

"Get out! Get out! Get out!" Harry said, and he sounded like a hysterical little first year because of how high his voice had gone that time it broke and he pulled his hands up to his head, trying to make things normal and right again, but that brought the parchment into his range of vision. With a strangled scream Harry threw it and it landed just in front of Ron and Hermione who looked incredibly concerned and startled, not to mention poor Neville who liked like he'd rather be dealing with Sna—no, no, _no_…

"Harry," Hermione said softly, as though she were speaking to a wild dragon, "are you okay?"

"Please, just go," Harry said, "I need to be alone."

Hermione, warily and slowly, knelt down, reaching for the parchment correctly guessing that it was the cause of Harry's hysteria, but not realizing how much Harry didn't want her to see. Her fingers crept closer, testing, and Harry's heart jolted in deep panic.

The parchment lit into a large burst of high blue and white flames and disappeared into a curl of yellow...not even ash remained. Harry's legs wobbled beneath him and he collapsed down onto the hard floor, his head jarring a bit at the impact.

Hermione was whimpering softly, holding her hand close and Harry couldn't make his eyes bring her or anything else into focus.

"Get out," Harry whispered, "please, just get out."

This time they listened, Hermione left first and Neville followed quickly, Ron lingered for a moment before giving up and running after them. Harry, exhausted, crawled over to his chest and pulled out the photo album Hagrid had given him a little over a year ago and retreated into his bed, trembling as he closed the curtains around him.

Harry's attempt at _lumos_ failed disastrously the first few times he tried to cast it, flames erupted from his wand in white-hot bursts before dissipating into nothing once more. Then his wand lit in a flickering white flame which gave off no heat nor was destructive…it was close enough to correct for Harry to reach for the photo album and stare at the pictures of his mother and father, his _real_ father. He and James Potter looked like twins; except for the age difference and the eyes…they _had_ to be related, there was no other explanation.

James Potter was his father.

James Potter _was_ his father.

_James Potter was his father._

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Reactions? :O


	7. Sorry about, you know, your face

Well, some of you may have noticed the change in summary due to the fact that timydamonkey finally managed to talk me into including a warning about the severitus...a little too late though, MUAHAHAHA! Though, I maintain that it counts as a spoiler...Incidentally, she wrote most of the summary, so there's that-I'm a summary thief!

**And I really loved reading all the reviews! All the reactions make things more fun :3**

Also, you have timydamonkey to thank for this super long chapter...her reasonings were that there were no potions or Snape and she wished to watch all of you writhe in pain, or something...my reasoning was that a four page chapter wouldn't go over very well and may also border on torture XD lesser of two evils? or king of both swamps?

...You'd think he could settle for one swamp though...

Nonetheless!

Enjoy this mid-holiday update!

**Chapter Seven: Sorry about, you know, your face**

Things seemed to have reached a point where nothing seemed likely to get better.

He'd burned Hermione the night before, pretty badly it seemed, bad enough that she needed the sort of balm that Snape had wanted him to brew the night before as yet another messed up paternity test. Her fingers still looked a bit raw, but at least she wouldn't have to know what Harry knew.

As a consequence, Ron and Hermione didn't seem to think his ability was all that cool anymore and Neville looked like the person he feared the most would no longer be Sn—Harry threw his arms around his head and tried desperately to calm his breathing, it would be so embarrassing to cry here. He couldn't do it.

A hand softly touched Harry's shoulder and Harry started, and it felt like his skin twitched underneath the contact, which only made Harry feel more uneasy.

"Why don't you go out into the hallway, Harry," and Professor Lupin knew he was about to cry, this was awful, why did everything have to happen this way? "I'll come and speak to you in a few moments…"

Harry didn't want to move, was scared that everyone would be staring at him, waiting for a chance to make fun of him because no one was over the fact that he'd lost a hundred points or that he'd accidentally sent Hermione to the hospital wing.

Apparently, Harry waited too long to begin moving and Professor Lupin pulled him from his seat. It felt like Harry weighed nothing at all for a moment and it was crazy to realize that someone as gentle as Lupin could be so strong.

Now that Harry had no choice but to study the room around him, he realized that everyone in the class had paired up and were cheerfully practicing spells. No one had even seemed to notice him, which was…a relief and a bit of a disappointment, oddly.

Professor Lupin easily led Harry out of the classroom and into the hallway, garnering just a few confused looks from a couple of people they passed.

Then Harry was released and he slumped back against the wall, more from the loss of support than from how he felt—Lupin must have been holding more of Harry's weight than he'd realized. Professor Lupin crossed his arms and stared at Harry for several long moments, it was the same look he got before he asked the class a question about the lecture or the reading…Harry waited the question, feeling his shoulders tense in anticipation.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

Harry frowned deeply and stared down at the floor with a focus he didn't realize he could summon forth right now.

"I sent Hermione to the hospital wing," Harry revealed, feeling like scum for doing that to his best friend.

"She must not be too angry considering she sat next to you in class," Professor Lupin replied, voice soothing. It reminded Harry of the same tone he used on Snape, like he was a dangerous animal in need of serious taming.

"She did, didn't she," Harry breathed out in slight amazement, "but why…"

"She probably knew that you felt rotten about it," Professor Lupin replied with a knowing smile, "You'll find that girls, women in general, seem to be a step ahead of us in the feelings department. Can I ask why you sent her to the infirmary?"

"It was an accident," Harry choked out, remembering with still-new horror how close Hermione had come to touching that parchment.

"All the more reason for her to forgive you," Lupin said soothingly. "Now, that can't be all, can it?"

Harry shuddered deeply and crossed his arms to warm the chill which had befallen him.

"No, it's not," Professor Lupin said, answering his own question. "You can talk to me about what's wrong, Harry."

Harry remembered how sadistic Snape had looked the night before, and Harry was sure that he couldn't really talk to anyone about that, about how Snape had handed over the parchment soaked in the truth potion; how Snape had proved that he had that allergy…

"Sir, is it true that there's an allergy that makes you allergic to all these potions ingredients?"

Professor Lupin looked taken aback and he replied, "Well, yes, there is…"

"But?" Harry demanded, "What about it?"

Professor Lupin chuckled and asked, "Is there a reason you want to know about it?"

Harry hadn't really thought that far ahead unfortunately and it took him a few moments to think up another question, "How common is it?"

"The allergy?" Lupin asked in surprise, "Um…well, I couldn't say for sure, but there were only a handful that had it when I was in school, it's on its way out of existence."

"Being bred out," Harry murmured, remembering what Snape had said the night before.

Professor Lupin looked a bit startled at Harry's words but agreed, "Yes, it's a problematic allergy, especially for people who are interested in potions or herbology."

"So," Harry said slowly, "Who would have the allergy?"

"Well, anyone really," Lupin said slowly, "it's a dominant trait; you only have to have one parent with it to get it. It was really common early in magical history, nearly all the first magical families had it, no one's quite sure why…but that means that most pureblood families still have it, because it's harder to breed out when you have a limited gene pool."

Harry frowned and stared down at his shoes.

"Harry," Professor Lupin said in concern and confusion, "why are you asking about all of this?"

"I didn't know about it," Harry replied, voice sounding weak and lost to his own ears, which was annoying. "Why hasn't it come up before?"

Professor Lupin chuckled in mirth, but it wasn't malicious, "That's simple, Professor Snape has the allergy, and he probably changed the syllabus so that he wouldn't have to be around a whole class' worth of things he's allergic to! I can't imagine that would be very pleasant…"

Something in Harry's face seemed to have alerted Lupin to a change in Harry's mood and he studied Harry's face with an expression that Harry couldn't quite identify, but Lupin's normally well-lit eyes seemed to have gone very dim. The professor came forward to hold Harry's shoulders and stared down at Harry's face, as if looking for something.

"Harry, do you have the allergy?" He demanded and Harry, rather than respond, held up his hand which was still a bit pink and his fingers a bit grey from faded bruising. He'd been keeping it hidden all morning, and though the throbbing was a bit difficult to ignore he didn't want to go to Pomfrey, and especially not back to…Harry shook his head as if he were trying to get a stray hair out of his face and then stared down at his shoes.

Professor Lupin inhaled sharply and gently took hold of Harry's hand, before pulling his wand from inside his patched robes. Harry tried to jerk his hand back, but was held gently and firmly in place; Harry again had to wonder just how strong his professor really was. Lupin then tapped Harry's hand a few times, murmuring spells softly and the residual pain and discoloration disappeared.

He then released Harry's hand and stared down at him for a very long while, well after Harry began squirming from discomfort.

Then, finally, Professor Lupin asked, "Are you going to go to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

First, Harry felt a raw anger at the fact that his Aunt and Uncle refused to sign the paper, but it was quickly followed by the horror that he had someone else he could ask for permission. Harry shuddered and leant back against the wall before shaking his head several times in a row.

"Then," Lupin said slowly, "if you don't have any other plans, why don't you come by for tea and we can talk more then?" Professor Lupin nodded towards the unsupervised classroom in explanation, "I may be an adult, but I can remember how much trouble a group of unsupervised thirteen year olds can get into."

Professor Lupin gave Harry a smile, which Harry found plainly soothing and Harry nodded, sharing a shy smile with the man, heading back towards the classroom. Lupin's smile widened and Harry hadn't realized that the one before had been forced until now, when it turned genuine.

Harry went to head back to his seat, but was stopped by Professor Lupin's hands on his shoulders once more, "Don't dwell on it, we'll get everything worked out soon enough…and if you need to talk before the weekend, you know where my office is."

It felt good to know that Lupin was just as nice as he seemed, he really was Harry's favorite professor and Harry was glad that Lupin wanted to help. It also helped that he was right, Hermione was in fact in the chair next to where Harry had been sitting. She even looked concerned that Harry had been taken out into the hallway. She really wasn't mad at him! Or at least if she was then Harry was not past being forgiven.

Before Harry could sit down, Hermione asked, "What happened?"

"He thought I didn't look well," Harry replied, "Wanted to know if I needed to go to the infirmary."

"Oh," Hermione murmured softly and looked him over as if trying to decide if Harry did look ill, "Why did he take you out into the hallway?"

"Didn't want to disturb class," Harry replied, "everyone would probably make a big deal over me getting sick…"

"You're probably right," Hermione said sympathetically, understanding how much Harry disliked the attention he got for living. That seemed like it would be it, but then Hermione tilted her head and asked, "Does this have anything to do with how upset you were last ni—?"

"Don't," Harry commanded harshly, before he could stop himself and his eyes flew open in alarm and he stared pleadingly at Hermione, silently begging her not to get mad at him for losing his temper.

Hermione's shoulders slumped and she looked very unhappy, but none of it seemed to be directed at Harry, "Okay, I won't ask about it."

"Thanks," Harry breathed out in relief.

* * *

><p>All that stood between Harry and the weekend was one final class of double Potions. It would be the first time, besides meals, that Harry would come face to face with Snape since the completion of the detentions. Not feeling much the Gryffindor, Harry hovered out in the hallway as long as he possibly could to avoid seeing Snape.<p>

Just before the chimes, Harry ducked into the classroom and joined Neville at a workbench in the back of the classroom. Neville gave Harry an encouraging smile, and Harry felt heartened that Neville no longer seemed to be as scared of him as he had been a couple of days ago. He should have known it would have taken more than a bit of fire to scare off a group of Gryffindors.

Also heartening was that Snape didn't seem remotely interested in paying Harry any attention, he simply acted as though Harry didn't exist and that the class was better for it. Not inclined to end the silent treatment, Harry kept his head down and studiously took notes on the lecture.

When the practical part of the lesson began, Harry seriously regretted sitting with Neville. Neither of them really understood how to make the potion and while Harry wanted to do everything as closely as possible to the directions to keep anything from exploding, Neville was jittery and got ahead of himself so he had to stumble back and it made everything more difficult than it had been before.

And still Snape ignored him…and by proxy, Neville.

Nonetheless, the man prowled around like a vampire searching for prey, swooping down upon hapless Gryffindors to ridicule them and take points. He seemed to be in a worse mood than usual and Harry was happy to be exempt, for once. Hopefully, this would even last for a while so Harry wouldn't have to deal with the professor at all, in or out of class. That sounded like heaven, honestly.

When the time came to increase the temperature of the flames under their cauldron, Harry had to step in. Neville's hands were shaking from anxiety caused by all the tension in the room, he was far too sensitive to Snape's moods and this caused his confidence to falter down to nothing.

"I'll take care of the casting," Harry told Neville soothingly, "you slice the jimsonweed, it'll be just like pruning in herbology." Harry swept his hands over the ingredients, "Really, it's not too different at all, it's all plants."

Neville looked like he'd never really realized that before, but he nodded looking like his confidence had been slightly bolstered and Harry moved over to the cauldron to cast the proper spell upon the flames. The fire turned bright white before darkening to blue and shot up several inches and Harry ducked away as did Neville.

Snape stopped where he was and turned to stare at the two of them, looking at them as if they were gum he'd just noticed stuck to the bottom of his shoe and he stalked up to the pair of them.

Harry was torn between being alarmed that his face was stinging something awful, worried about what Snape would do to him for messing up a spell they'd been doing most of the year, and recognition that Neville's eyebrows and arm hair had been burnt off by the burst of flame. Neville hadn't even been that close! Then that meant…Harry couldn't imagine how he looked…

"Lacking control as per usual, Mr. Potter," Snape commented dryly.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, his face felt really hot, but that was probably more from the painful stinging rather than embarrassment. His cheeks and mouth felt as though they'd been pulled thin and were cracking now that he'd moved his mouth, something warm trickled down his face. Snape looked absolutely disgusted, and reached for something in his robes.

"Twenty points from each of you for your abysmal potion and another ten points for your poor spellwork, Potter," Snape declared and with a sharp motion he pulled out his wand, and a…handkerchief? Snape cast a quick sanitizing spell on the kerchief and then pressed it to Harry's face where he'd felt the warmth, which made him cry out in pain over the pressure put on his sensitive skin. Instinctively, Harry reached for the cloth, and Snape immediately released it, casting another cleaning charm upon his hand…it was funny that Snape should find _him_ dirty.

"To the hospital wing with both of you," Snape growled, "before I feel the need to take more points."

Neville jumped as though someone had poked him with a branding iron and scuttled off toward the door, Harry grabbed both of their schoolbags and followed after Neville.

Once Harry caught up to Neville, he noticed that his face and arms were tinged a bit red. Harry was really beginning to worry about what he looked like, and why Snape had given him the kerchief…

"Neville?" Harry asked and it felt like more of skin cracked open, as if his whole face had the texture of very chapped lips and every motion caused the skin to tear. More warmth began to flow around Harry's mouth and was absorbed by Snape's handkerchief.

"You probably shouldn't talk, Harry," Neville said, looking very anxious, "and we should probably get to the infirmary as fast as we can."

Alarmed Harry asked, "Is it that bad?"

Neville nodded fervently, face crumpled in worry, and reached for Harry's arm and began pulling him along quickly.

"And you should probably be more careful with fire spells," Neville added, "just until you get better at them. Maybe you could have Professor Flitwick work with you! He's always really helpful whenever I have problems with homework!"

Neville smiled encouragingly, which looked quite odd with him not having any eyebrows or eyelashes. Harry felt like he was not really in a good place if he was receiving advice on successful spell casting from Neville.

"Hey, um," Harry decided Neville was right and he should probably stop talking, his face was _really_ hurting now, "Sorry about, you know, your face."

Neville snickered and patted Harry's back comfortingly, "Can't be any worse than yours."

Turned out Harry had burnt off layers and layers of skin, and then his face had been cauterized by the remaining heat. So it had stiffened and chafed to the point where any movement of his face caused his remaining skin to tear, which was why he'd needed Snape's hankie—he'd begun bleeding every time he'd spoken…

Then there was the matter of his glasses, they'd protected his eyes from harm, but the plastic and the glass had been melted pretty badly—he was going to need all new glasses and he'd probably have plastic and glass bits imbedded in his cheeks for a while.

"Never have I ever seen something like this in my whole career," Madam Pomfrey groused as she slathered salve all over his badly burnt hands, "it's a good thing you weren't following proper lab procedures and had your sleeves down or I daresay you'd be in quite a bit more pain, Mr. Potter, you probably would have come to me unconscious!"

Neville was grinning at Harry's misfortune from where Pomfrey made him sit while she re-grew his eyebrows and lashes. He was idly scratching his hairless arms.

Once Harry's hands were all covered in thick goo, Madam Pomfrey turned her attention to Harry's burnt face.

"Now let's see how well we can remove these glasses," she muttered, waving her wand around Harry's head, "this _plaster_ muggles swear by is wholly unpractical…"

"Plastic," Harry corrected automatically.

"No matter," Pomfrey scoffed, "now we'll just see about getting you some proper spectacles, made of gold or silver!"

"My uncle has some platinum glasses," Neville chimed in helpfully, "he swears by them!"

"Perfectly proper material for glasses," Madam Pomfrey haughtily agreed, "none of this _plasteric _nonsense!"

"I've brought more of Dermacus' Salve," Snape's voice rang out across the hospital wing.

"Oh, thank you, Severus!" Pomfrey said brightly, "if you wouldn't mind bringing it over, I'm quite at a loss of how to remove Mr. Potter's spectacles."

Snape quickly strode over and deposited a small container onto the table next to Harry.

"What's that?" Harry immediately demanded, and regretted it instantly. He could feel his shoulders sink down as he tried to shrink away from being on the receiving end of Snape's full attention.

A cruel smirk slowly slid onto Snape's face and he replied, "I believe you're familiar with this potion, Potter."

Well, considering this didn't seem like the appropriate time to administer a paternity test, nor could Harry see Madam Pomfrey reacting kindly to Snape rendering Harry defenseless to magical attacks...that pretty much narrowed it down to which potion it could be.

"Good for burns, right?" Harry asked, and his newly scabbed face promptly broke open again. Madam Pomfrey sighed in irritation and Snape's mouth twisted in clear disgust. Pomfrey quickly dipped her fingers into the salve and roughly smeared it all over and around Harry's mouth and neck so it would begin healing.

Harry sputtered as the lower half of his face was smeared with thick goo, and then stopped when he found himself being intently studied by both Madam Pomfrey and Snape.

"You may as well just rip them off," Snape declared, "it will be painful no matter what, but this way it will be over quickly."

"That could cause more of the _paste-kicks_ to break off and remain in his face though," Pomfrey said in disagreement.

"The human body is an extraordinary thing," Snape replied, "all of the foreign objects within it will come out eventually."

Madam Pomfrey seemed to be considering this as she stared at Harry's for a long while, then, without warning, she reached up and jerked Harry's glasses from his face with the speed of a king cobra. Harry nearly screamed with pain, and slammed his gooey fingers against his eyes.

"That's why you always do the hands first," Madam Pomfrey said with a laugh, and she set about smearing even more goo all over Harry's face. Then her hands began to creep to the top of his head and Harry's eyes widened when he realized what that meant.

"Do I have any hair left?" He squeaked in horror, "Can I see a mirror?"

"You'd be the better judge of what your impaired sight will and will not allow you to see," Snape commented dryly and Harry glared at the hazy figure that Snape's voice was coming from.

"It's just the hair around your face," Madam Pomfrey said soothingly, "besides if we can grow back your skin, rest assured we can grow back a little hair."

"It will be curious to see if other physical features will be regrown as well," Snape muttered cryptically.

Madam Pomfrey gave a little gasp, and jumped with shock at whatever it was Snape was suggesting, "There's certainly no telling, I'm afraid. What I'm concerned about is how we're going to be getting Mr. Potter more glasses…"

"As tomorrow is a Hogsmeade weekend and Potter is a third year, I see no reason as why it shouldn't be easily remedied," Snape replied, "Correct, Potter?"

"I can't go to Hogsmeade," Harry replied petulantly, and Madam Pomfrey used his speaking as an opportunity to glob more salve on his open lips and Harry sputtered and gagged at the awful taste of the stuff. Once he'd recovered from his fit, he added, "My _guardians_ wouldn't sign the permission slip."

Both Snape and Pomfrey fell silent at that, and after a few seconds Madam Pomfrey finished with the salve and said, "I'm sure we'll be able arrange something for you, Mr. Potter, it isn't as though you can go without glasses for more than a day."

After that Pomfrey began bustling about, and ceased depositing more goo on Harry's skin. Harry slowly lost interest in the blurry world around him and closed his eyes, listening closely to everything around him instead. Things seemed to mesh into an odd timelessness and Harry began to wonder if he was dozing off…

"His skin is regrowing," Snape announced in a seeming _non sequitur_ and there were sounds of movement around him. Harry slowly opened his eyes to see two blurs in front of him; he identified the black-ish one as Snape.

Snape hummed in interest and the black blur moved closer, "Note the odd hue," a peachy thing buzzed in front of Harry's face, "here…it appears to be some change in pigmentation…"

"Quite possibly," Madam Pomfrey's voice rang clearly from the other blur, "it's difficult to tell with the salve obscuring things."

Snape grunted and Harry felt gooey fingers touch his forehead. Pomfrey made an exasperated noise and her blur buzzed about unhappily while the fingers continued to slowly brush around where Harry's scar was.

Then Madam Pomfrey, Snape, and Neville all gasped and Harry couldn't take it any longer!

"What is it? What's going on?"

"Your scar!" Neville exclaimed in shock.

"It appears to have gone the way of the rest of your face," Snape replied. "Though your skin has not completed growing just yet, so it would be foolish to make assumptions at this time…"

The black blur—Snape—stood and then Snape said, "Inform me if you require more salve for Potter."

Then the blur disappeared out of Harry's sight and Harry turned to look at Madam Pomfrey's blur.

"Your skin should be fully regrown by tomorrow, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey informed him, "and hopefully, you'll also have a replacement pair of glasses by then as well. Mr. Longbottom, once your eyebrows are back to their usual length you may go. If either of you have need of me, I'll be in my office."

A new blur appeared and sidled up next to him and said with Neville's voice, "Snape left class to come up here and watch your face regrow."

That means he dismissed class early or left a student in charge, which is incredibly odd behavior for Snape…he normally enjoys torturing students as much as possible whether it be keeping them in class until the very last second or letting them suffer from melted face in the hospital wing.

"Apparently, my scar was that interesting to him," Harry scoffed, "that's probably why—he just wanted to know if it would come back or not."

"I wonder why it didn't," Neville murmured, "my great uncle has a curse scar on his ankle. He hates it so much he cut his leg off trying to get rid of it, and the whole thing regrew. Curse scars are supposed to be impossible to get rid of, because they," Neville gulped, it seemed incredibly loud in Harry's blurry world, like a large fish coming to the surface of a stagnant, abandoned lake for a gulp of fresh air, "scar your soul, not your body…"

That all sounded rather sketchy to Harry, rather like the things that those odd people said on the telly Sunday mornings before Uncle Vernon changed the channel…Sometimes, he felt like he didn't belong anywhere. Harry didn't know enough to fit into the muggle world and certainly didn't come close to knowing everything about the magical world.

Neville stayed for a while, chatting aimlessly while Harry politely pretended to pay attention, but it was difficult when his eyes were hurting from being unable to focus. Then Neville announced his eyebrows had regrown and he was supposed to meet Hermione in the library for help in potions.

After that Harry closed his eyes and he dreamed of blurry colors and shapes talking with Snape's voice and telling him he had another week of detention because Snape had found more paternity tests.

Someone cleared their throat very loudly and Harry jerked away.

"You wouldn't happen to be the burn victim in the third bed, now would you? I believe I'm in the correct place, but the letter didn't specify whether it was the third bed to the left or right…"

"Well, I have been burned…" Harry replied slowly, blinking owlishly, "but I couldn't say which bed I'm in."

The man chuckled and a blue blur appeared, "Then I think I'm in the right place. Melted your glasses in the accident, I assume?"

"Something like that," Harry replied, "that's what they said."

The man clucked his tongue and Harry heard bustling around him, rather like Madam Pomfrey did before she administered potions.

"Now, I'm Dr. Cloche, and I've been asked to replace your glasses," the man said cheerfully, "rather unexpected, but you can't help who you are and what eyes go along with that."

"Excuse me! Just who are you?" Madam Pomfrey's voice rang out, and firm steps quickly approached, "Do you have approval to be here?"

There was the sound of parchment being handled and the man spoke as if he was reading something, "A burn victim in the infirmary requires new spectacles with attachment abilities, impervious to liquids, suitable for quidditch and other rough-and-tumble activities which young men are so prone to. Service is immediately required once cleared by the headmaster—I came as soon as I received notice."

"And my, what service! I only just sent the visitor notice, you're quite the dedicated man, Dr. Cloche," Dumbledore's voice said, and a bright yellow blob appeared before Harry. "Hello, my boy, are you feeling much improved?"

Madam Pomfrey harrumphed in frustration and Harry didn't hear her footsteps leave so she must be staying to keep watch.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, sitting up slowly. "I'll be happy to see things again, though."

"Of course, of course," the headmaster chuckled, "so don't let us distract you, Dr. Cloche."

"Certainly not, headmaster," Cloche replied, "Now young man, if you could just hold," something was pressed into Harry's hand, "this up to your face and I'll begin."

Harry's face scrunched in confusion, but he nodded anyway and then held the thing up to his face. It was adjusted very carefully and then Dr. Cloche said, "Close your left eye and tell me when you can see the headmaster's beard very clearly."

Slowly, the world began form and Harry found himself staring at Dumbledore whose eyes weren't twinkling in spite of how cheerful he'd sounded previously. After a few seconds Harry could begin to tell individual hairs in Dumbledore's beard and with a gasp, Harry turned to look around at everything else—seeing details he hadn't known existed previously.

"One second, young man," the doctor said, and Harry turned to look at him—he was a jovial looking bald man with golden square glasses which looked quite odd on his round face. "Continue looking at the headmaster, we may be able to get things to look clearer for you."

Harry did as he was told and he decided that the headmaster really did seem quite troubled, but was hiding it behind a bright smile.

Once Cloche found the exact point which allowed Harry to see best, he deposited a pair of glasses onto Harry's nose and then handed him a photo album full of glasses and a mirror. Harry looked into the mirror right away as no one had allowed him to see one and he could barely recognize himself—his skin had an odd pale green tint from the salve that had been glopped onto his face and underneath his skin was a pale pink. His eyebrows were half burned off and had yet to regrow as his skin needed to recover first. The front half of his head was bald and his forehead looked unusually naked…in all honesty, he looked as though he'd been on the wrong side of the one of the Twins' pranks.

It was difficult to tear his eyes away from the creature in the mirror, but finally Harry managed to turn his attention to the photo album full of various styles of glasses and finally paused on a particularly outlandish set of frames, and when he looked back into the mirror the pair on his nose transformed into the ones in the picture. Startled, Harry immediately sought out a more normal looking pair and when he looked back into the mirror, sure enough, his glasses had changed to reflect the picture.

Very cool.

Gleefully, Harry dove into album, searching for some frames he liked.

"Will he have a choice of metals as well?" Dumbledore asked and Harry looked up from the mirror to watch the headmaster's face as it continued to disguise the unpleasant feelings Dumbledore was clearly feeling.

Cloche seemed a bit surprised by the question and hurriedly dug out the parchment, "I was told only to supply titanium spectacles—ah, yes, see," Cloche handed the parchment over to Dumbledore, "as it would maintain its shape the best and would not melt easily—these spectacles are made specifically to resist any damage and be quite resilient...as requested." Cloche chuckled and gave Harry a wink, "Quite an accident prone, young man, aren't you?"

Harry flushed and agreed, "You don't know the half of it."

This made all the adults laugh, though Dumbledore's hands were shaking where he held the parchment. Uncomfortable, Harry returned to picking out the shape he would like his glasses to take.

Finally, Harry settled on a simplistic pair that almost created the illusion of floating lenses. Before he even announced that he'd decided, Dumbledore said, "I see you've settled on a style, my boy?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied with a grin, and was amazed to see a tiny bit of magic fluttering around Dumbledore's robes—it was a rare occurrence these days, for Harry to see any magic and so it was always terribly amazing and breathtaking.

"If I may then," Dr. Cloche said, and he deftly plucked the glasses from Harry's face, "I'll need to fix the style so they don't get confused and start changing every time you see another pair…though I do have clients that like having their glasses constantly change…"

Dumbledore chuckled and said, "Variety is the spice of life, they say."

"Oh, certainly, headmaster," Cloche agreed brightly, "but it wears the frames very easily and if fixed this pair should be able to handle four or five style and lens adjustments—which I'm quite sure was the reason these materials were chosen."

Dumbledore hummed in agreement, and then the glasses were placed back, very gently, on Harry's face. It nearly felt as if he wasn't even wearing them and Harry couldn't help but beam as he looked around the hospital wing. There was such a difference now; it was as if he were here for the first time.

"I am most impressed, Dr. Cloche," Dumbledore said brightly as Dr. Cloche began gathering his work materials, "that you came calling so soon and at this time at night."

Dr. Cloche shook his head and smiled, saying, "Everything has a season, time, and purpose, Headmaster…as well as a price."

Cloche then produced a sheet of paper, nodded genially to the headmaster, and left.

There was awkward silence for a while and then Madam Pomfrey snorted and commented, "Well, at least he's honest about it."

Dumbledore then carefully folded one of the papers he held, and pocketed it before handing the other paper to Pomfrey who looked at it and gasped.

"I'm not quite sure what sort of man comes to a school in the middle of the night without knowing who calls upon him, who he's treated, or where the money to pay him comes from," Dumbledore said thoughtfully as he approached Harry, "he is either the best or sort of person or the worst."

Dumbledore then, very gently, took Harry's glasses from his face using both hands so it felt for a moment as if the headmaster was cradling his head, and Harry heard Dumbledore casting several spells in quick succession—probably checking to see if there were any curses on the glasses.

"You mean you didn't ask him to come?" Harry asked, confused.

"I did not, my dear boy," Dumbledore replied, "but whoever did ask him to come knew you would be unrecognizable currently and used that as a way to get you anonymously treated."

Harry thought back to the green creature with the receding hairline that he'd seen in the mirror and had to agree that there was no way Cloche had known who he was treating. Then after a few more muttered spells, the glasses were just as gently placed back on his face.

Dumbledore snapped into focus and was examining Harry's face, "May I?"

Harry assumed he wanted what Snape had wanted earlier and nodded, sure enough Dumbledore reached for the container of salve next to Harry's bed and dipped his fingers into it so that he could touch Harry's face. The headmaster tilted Harry's head this and that way, and then stroked a thumb across where the scar had previously been.

Dumbledore's mouth formed into a thin line and he murmured, "There seems to be an odd discoloration…"

Harry was eerily reminded of when Snape had examined Harry's face earlier.

He also didn't want to ask whether or not Dumbledore thought the scar would come back…it would be too disappointing if it did…well, maybe, Harry had rather mixed feelings about his scar. He could remember a time when it was the only thing he'd liked about his appearance, a time when it had set him apart in an interesting way rather than an infamous way.

Now though, Harry was beginning to think it would be nice to have it gone once and for all and blend back into the shadows.

"Did I ever tell you how I got my scar of the London Underground?" Dumbledore questioned brightly as he released Harry's face and set about wiping the salve from his hands. Harry wasn't sure what that had to do with anything, nor if he wanted to know that story.

"Didn't mind the gap?" Harry suggested.

Dumbledore looked startled for a moment. Then his face warmed and for the first time his smile reached his eyes which began twinkling merrily, and he began laughing warmly as if that had been the best joke he'd heard in a long time.


	8. Nothing to Set Him Apart

**Many, many thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

Sorry about taking FOREVER to update-I was out of town for a while and stuck on these two scenes further ahead and didn't want to run out of material...excuses, excuses, etc. etc.

Anyways! Back now and the scenes are mostly taken care of, now off to new scenes which will take waaaaaaay to long to write! :D

**Chapter Eight: ** **Nothing to Set Him Apart**

The headmaster remained with Harry, idly chatting, until Harry conked out sometime after the sky turned a pale grey. Then he was awakened sometime later by an overexcited Hermione and a jittery Ron.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione said loudly, as she was wont to do whenever she got excited, "I do wish you could come with us, Madam Pomfrey says you'll be well by lunch time—"

"Too bad she can't sign my permission slip as well as my release form," Harry muttered which made Hermione frown, but it disappeared shortly after she recalled _she_ would still be going to Hogsmeade.

"Don't be so upset, mate," Ron said brightly, "we'll bring you loads of stuff!"

"Yes, Harry," Hermione agreed, "is there anything you'd like especially?"

Harry remembered that it wasn't too long ago that he had been so desperate to find living relatives that weren't the Dursleys that he'd had a very specific list of potion ingredients that he'd thought of asking them to buy…and now he'd dearly like to go back to having only the Dursleys as relatives.

"No, it doesn't really matter."

Harry was released shortly after lunch, and he took the opportunity to bathe and remove the green tint from his skin, and when he stepped out of the bath he saw it—the tiny little white line carving through the dark tan of his skin. Harry stepped closer to the mirror and stared at his forehead, the lightning bolt scar was indeed gone, but where it had been was a disturbing lack of skin pigmentation.

Tiny blue and red lines crossed underneath white skin, and Harry could see it now because of his new glasses.

He swallowed and raised a hand to rub at the sliver, and felt nothing under his fingers but uniform skin. Harry wondered if the skin which had replaced the scar could be tanned to match the rest of his body.

Then there'd be nothing to set him apart from anyone else.

* * *

><p>Harry had been sitting by the lake if the invitation for tea with Lupin still stood in spite of the accident and if the awkwardness of having a teacher's one-on-one attention was worth the free tea, when Professor Lupin found him.<p>

"Hello, Harry," he said in his usual calm voice, but not the soothing, cautious one that the man usually seemed to use around both Harry and Snape. "I see you manage to survive your run-in with a fire charm."

Harry flushed in embarrassment at his blunder with a spell they'd used nearly every potions class since first year, "I don't know what happened, it was an accident."

"Oh, of course," Lupin agreed with a chuckle, "no one _plans_ to burn their own face off."

Harry frowned and stared down at the ground and Professor Lupin dropped a heavy hand onto Harry's shoulder and said, "If children weren't prone to accidents then Hogwarts wouldn't have an infirmary. You're here to learn and sometimes that means learning from mistakes."

"I guess you're right," Harry admitted grudgingly, and he tried to let the words soothe him.

"What?" Professor Lupin asked, in mock-surprise, "You don't think I haven't had my fair share of accidents or embarrassments? I assure you, I have."

Harry gave him a skeptical look, it was difficult to believe that anyone could be more accident prone than Harry himself…except perhaps Neville.

"One day, Harry, I'll tell you some stories," Lupin assured him with a wink, "I'm just loathe to give you any ideas at this point. Between Fred and George Weasley there's not much room for more trouble-makers."

"Then how am I supposed to believe you if you won't tell me?" Harry demanded.

Professor Lupin seemed a bit taken aback by the vehemence of Harry's tone and turned to study Harry slowly, "I suppose, I could tell you about something…" The man tilted his head in thought, trying to remember a story which would hopefully not inspire Harry to make mischief.

"Ah, I've got just the one," Lupin declared proudly. "When I was young, I was rather studious, like your Hermione, I even was made prefect," he added with a chuckle, "but this was frustrating for my friends, at times, so they decided to find a way to keep me from my books. They'd take bets once a month on which books I'd go after, and charm them so that when I opened them they'd spew leprechaun gold…and I'd never know which books would do until it was too late. Got me into a lot of trouble in the classes I'd do my homework in."

Professor Lupin was smiling wistfully at the memories of when he'd been a young student, and then he paused suddenly, looking shocked, and said, "I bet a lot of the books are still charmed, by the end of my seventh year the library was pretty much a minefield of hexed books…"

"A minefield?" Harry echoed, surprised. Hearing the expression jolted him, and he realized just how rare it was for him to hear any sort of muggle terminology while at Hogwarts. And now that he was hearing it, it was very bizarre to have his two worlds (even if his life with the Dursleys only lasted for a couple of months these days) collide.

"Oh," Lupin murmured, brow furrowing, "it's difficult to explain…let me see—"

"I know what they are!" Harry insisted quickly, "I'm just surprised that you've said it."

That eased the lines from the man's face and he smiled again, replying, "I imagine so, it's easier just to avoid using muggle phrases more often than not because people don't always understand. Rather like living in another country at times…"

"Yes, exactly!" Harry exclaimed, scooting unconsciously closer to Professor Lupin, his eyes wide and fixated on the man, "sometimes it's really difficult to make sense of things."

There was Professor Lupin's soothing smile and for once, it did soothe Harry as the man explained, "Like everything else, it just takes time and practice."

Professor Lupin tilted his head and was silent for a moment; it reminded Harry of how birds would act when they heard a cat or dog trying to sneak up on them. Then he reapplied his attention to Harry and said, "I think it may start to rain soon, and I do believe I promised you tea…"

"Yeah," Harry said brightly, standing up, "let's go!"

They walked back to the castle in a companionable silence, until finally they arrived at Professor Lupin's office.

"Now, then," Lupin said, unlocking his office door and holding it open for Harry, "I believe you wanted to talk about genetics, which I admit is not my forte, but I'll gladly impart all I know."

Harry suddenly stalled, frozen in the hallway as he suddenly wondered what would happen if it became common knowledge that he had this uncommon-common allergy…eventually it would come out that neither Lily nor James Potter had it and then people would start to wonder how Harry came to have it. Maybe he shouldn't have even let on to Lupin that he'd discovered this, maybe in spite of Lupin's kind disposition and great teaching abilities he wasn't trustworthy…

Lupin's eyes folded into concern and he asked, using that same oddly gentle tone that made it clear he thought Harry was an explosive device likely to destroy the continent at any moment, "Harry? We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to…we don't have to talk about it at all. This wasn't a detention, it was an invitation that you're free to decline."

"I…maybe…" Harry swallowed and quickly looked down at his shoes as if the worn trainers would tell him how to handle the situation, "maybe…we could talk, but not about…all that…?"

"Of course," the professor agreed easily, though his eyes were fixed on Harry's trainers as well, "Well," Lupin shook his head and smiled at Harry, "shall I put the tea on?"

Harry nodded, and plodded into the professor's office, which, like Snape's, was full of creepy curiosities. Harry made his way to the chair situated opposite of Lupin's desk, but before he could reach it a sudden noise made him jump and look around the office for the source of the noise.

Lupin, humming, didn't notice the noise and continued rummaging through his belongings.

A slow, chill seemed to emanate from a chest on the floor and Harry, feeling nervous and extremely uneasy backed away from it—inching closer to the professor. Slowly, fear began to fill Harry and his mind kept circling back to his recent detention with Snape and how everything was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Hands descended onto Harry's shoulders heavily and Harry shuddered violently away, dropping down to the floor to huddle in on himself.

"Harry?"

Warmth slowly spread through Harry's body.

"Harry? Are you all right?" Something was placed gently in his hand and he became even warmer, "Harry?"

Blinking owlishly, Harry realized he'd been staring at Professor Lupin for quite a while and flushed, "What happened?"

"You should eat that chocolate," Lupin said instead, and after a moment Harry realized that he was indeed holding chocolate, and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly.

"What happened," Harry demanded in-between chews, and the professor seemed torn between disgust and amusement at Harry's terrible manners.

"The boggart I procured escaped," Lupin replied, and Harry found it amusing that the professor thought he was speaking English.

"That means nothing to me," Harry informed the professor.

"Well, my original lesson plans for our most recent class was not dueling," Lupin explained, "I'd originally planned on covering boggarts, which are a type of magical creature which turns into a person's greatest fear and then feeds off of the fear it inspires."

Harry frowned and took another bite of chocolate, "Disturbing."

"Yes, rather like chewing with your mouth open," Lupin replied with a wink and Harry blushed in embarrassment before quickly sealing his lips together, and Lupin slowly eased himself up from the crouch he was in to look over Harry. He moved rather like Mrs. Figg, Harry decided, like he was made of rusty, creaky hinges and he needed to move carefully or he'd make noises like a haunted house.

Harry quickly bustled to his feet and said, "But wait! If that Bogger-thingy escaped and became my worst fear, then wha—" Harry froze and shuddered when he realized what the boggart must have become and inhaled a deep breath, "A dementor?"

That was definitely better than it becoming Snape.

Professor Lupin nodded solemnly in agreement to Harry's guess, "I suppose they made quite an impression on you during the train ride…"

Harry felt himself flush in embarrassment once more, and Professor Lupin said, "There's no need to be embarrassed of your reaction, no matter how much the Slytherin's may tease you. If the dementors weren't so deadly and fear-inspiring then they would not be used as guards for the most nightmarish prison on earth."

Harry gulped and nodded, feeling as though the blood drained from his face at the thought of being surrounded by those…_things_ day and night.

"That's where he, Sirius Black, was," Harry stated.

"Yes," Lupin agreed, face suddenly shuttered, "only the worst criminals are sent there for the worst punishment."

Harry nodded solemnly.

"But enough of all that," Lupin said, face cheerful, "let's have some tea now that the boggart is well-contained."

The two chatted easily for a while and then something pushed the open door further, and Professor Lupin stood, moving to stand in front of Harry, looking a bit uncomfortable.

Then Snape made his way into the office, and Harry stiffened and reared back, and Snape froze, inhaling deeply as if the fact that he had to breath the same air as Harry disgusted him.

"Interupting, am I?" Snape asked snidely and Lupin didn't comment. The incredibly awkward silence extended and Snape finally declared, brandishing a goblet, the contents of which Harry recognized as being Lupin's medication…the foul smell was certainly very distinct. "I've brought your potion, Lupin."

"You didn't have—"

"Be sure that you take it," Snape interjected with no small amount of derision, and Harry was surprised that Snape could manage to hate so many people so vehemently…then he realized that he shouldn't be all that surprised really.

"Of course, I will," Professor Lupin replied, and Harry wondered if that soothing tone actually worked to ease Snape's hostility. And just to prove his word was good, Lupin reached for the goblet and slowly began drinking it.

That settled Snape turned his full attention to Harry and his mouth slowly twitched into a full grimace of disgust and just when Harry felt ready to scream or hide fully behind Lupin, Snape turned heel and stormed out.

Harry felt more nauseous than relieved.

And Professor Lupin avoided eye contact with Harry for the rest of the afternoon, which made Harry's skin itch as he wondered if Lupin could possibly know…

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! Review and let me know what you think!<p> 


	9. His way of trying to take care of me

__**Thanks to everyone who took the time to review!**

This is a relatively slow moving chapter, I think, course I think the next whole block of the fic I have written is slow moving because it took FOREVER to write XD so here's hoping it's better for those of you who didn't spend a few weeks thinking this whole scene over, lol!

**MORE IMPORTANT!** This chapter varies rather drastically from the book, I wrote it all out in a way that seemed logical to me, only to remember when I checked the book for reference that OH YEAH there is no logic in the HP-verse! And then I was just so outraged that I kept it the way I wrote it to begin with because WTFRLYPERCY? Timydamonkey has transcripts of this conversation on file if anyone requires citations, I was rather outraged XD

_I still do not own anything having to do with Harry Potter, and I am making zero money off of this._

ANYWAYS ON WITH THE FIC

**Chapter Nine: His way of trying to take care of me**

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed in delight upon seeing him and Harry frowned into the massive brush of her frizzy hair when she hugged him. "Oh, Harry, it's such a shame you couldn't go!"

"I was in the hospital wing anyway," Harry muttered, trailing off slowly.

"Yes, but," Hermione's lip trembled, and then she forced another smile, "we got you all sorts of things!"

"Yeah, mate!" Ron chimed in, his smile also forced, and Harry began to wonder just how transparent he must be if everyone could tell that something was bothering him, especially something he wanted desperately to hide. "There are all kinds of shops—we got you loads of sweets from Honeydukes and at Zonkos—"

"The joke shop," Hermione interjected with stern disapproval, "I told Ron not to go in as almost everything in stock is on the restricted items list—"

"Fortunate for you, I never listen to _her_," Ron told Harry proudly and Hermione's eyes grew wide and wet for just a moment before she hurriedly blinked and tossed her hair saying, "Well, I hope everything gets confiscated and that will show you to spend all your pocket money on nonsense!"

And then they were arguing.

Again.

Harry groaned and it was unnoticed by both Ron and Hermione, who despite rearing into each other managed to corral Harry towards the Great Hall for the Halloween Feast. Something which Harry wished to avoid this year because seeing Snape pretty much annihilated his whole appetite for food and fun just by existing…everything would be so much simpler for Harry if Snape never existed.

"Guys," Harry said, trying to stop the argument, and explain he really just wanted to head back up to the tower, "look—"

"Harry, can you just believe his nerve?" Hermione huffed, "Why are you being so stupid about all of this, Ron—"

"I'm not being stupid! You're the one that set your dumb cat—"

"Honestly Ron," Hermione exclaimed, "cats hunt rodents—it's what they _do_, your rat just happens to be the only pet rodent in the entire tower!"

"He singles Scabbers out!" Ron growled, "He doesn't hunt any other rats—"

"Actually he does!" Hermione declared tossing her hair smugly, apparently she had information which would allow her to finally end this fight, "Every day after class when I go up to my dormitory, he's killed a mouse or a rat and leaves it for me at the foot of my bed."

Ron looked disgusted and Harry couldn't help but feel the same way.

Hermione flushed a bit and hurriedly added, "It's his way of trying to take care of me…in a rather disgusting way, but my point is! It's not personal; he's just a mousing cat."

Ron gaped, his face going splotchy and pale, and then finally he gulped a few times and said, his voice going a bit high pitched, "Anyways, Harry, we got you all sorts of things."

"Yes," Hermione agreed hurriedly, "and I didn't buy _any_ sugar free candies, I just hope my parents don't find out."

"Such a rebel, our Hermione," Ron scoffed with no malice as he pulled Harry over to their usual spot at the Gryffindor table. Harry weakly tried to argue his way out of attending but neither Hermione, nor Ron paid his soft protests any attention. Dejected, Harry plopped down on the bench and stared wearily down at the empty, golden plate—it was probably the best way to avoid eye contact with the head table.

Over his head the ghosts floated around giant bat illusions, and floating pumpkins, before him food overflowed on the table—small candies and cakes interspersed between the heavy dinner foods, even though they would be getting pudding later. Everyone around him was talking loudly and fighting over the few pre-pudding treats…it made Harry feel even more out place than he did ordinarily.

A hand on Harry's arm jolted him out of his thoughts and he looked up at Hermione who gazed at him with concern.

"Aren't you hungry?" She asked softly, her eyes all wide and watery just like when Ron said he never listened to her.

"Not really," Harry replied, "Madam Pomfrey stuffed me with food before I was released from the infirmary and then I had tea with Professor Lupin."

Hermione looked incredibly relieved and nodded, "Okay, that makes sense."

Harry forced a smile and Hermione beamed, apparently she'd been really worried about him and Harry realized they hadn't spoken much since he'd burned her hand accidentally. Before he realized it Harry had gently touched Hermione's now-healed hand, and she blinked and looked up in confusion.

"Sorry," Harry stuttered out quickly, ducking his hand and blushing, "it was an accident, I didn't mean to."

"I know," Hermione replied with a smile, "I do similar things sometimes without meaning to…"

Harry blinked owlishly at the thought of _Hermione_ having an_ uncontrolled_ magical outburst; the two concepts shouldn't even be in the same sentence together really, it just didn't seem right. As if sensing his thoughts Hermione nodded solemnly as if to drive the point home, yes, she really was a child prone to outbursts in temper just like the rest of them, thank you very much.

"But," Hermione added, blinking slowly and looking very shy, "if you ever want to talk about whatever it was that upset you…"

"I'll be sure to come to you for advice and other various logical interpretations," Harry said with a smile.

Hermione returned her attention to her dinner, every so often interjecting into a nearby conversation, and Harry, feeling less sick, slowly served himself some food and began nibbling on it. And soon enough his classmates drew him into having fun as well.

After pudding was cleared away, all the students left the Great Hall en masse, slowly separating into four groups and going off to different parts of the castle—in the middle of the large group of Gryffindors, Harry once more found himself caught in the middle of an argument between Hermione and Ron, _would they ever_ _stop_?

Immediately after he thought this, they did fall silent, but so had everyone else.

"What's the hold-up?" Ron whispered, not wanting to be heard over the silence. No one answered and goosebumps rose on Harry's arms. Hermione stood on her tip-toes trying to see what the problem was.

Percy suddenly bustled through, loudly proclaiming that everyone needed to move and had to listen to him, because, you remember, he's head boy.

Seconds later though, Percy yelled, alarmed, "Someone get the headmaster!"

Hermione and Ron both shared looks of alarm with Harry, and everyone around them suddenly began talking loudly, speculating…then as if he already knew and had been heading this way already, Dumbledore appeared. Everyone parted to let him pass and from his new, squashed position Harry could clearly see what happened and it made his stomach ache almost as bad as it had been for the past month.

The guardian portrait had been torn to shreds and the fat lady was nowhere to be seen.

Wild cackling was heard from above, and Harry looked up to see Peeves floating about, "Poor, poor dear, she took off you know—"

"Peeves, do you know what happened?" The headmaster asked rather sternly.

"She was much too embarrassed to be seen in her state," Peeves continued in his mocking tone. "Didn't want everyone to know what she looked like all…undone." Peeves cackled a bit more and said, "He's always had such a temper on him…That Sirius Black."

Until that moment Harry never realized that a skill one must have to be a successful teacher was herding, but seemingly without effort the teachers managed to quickly escort all the Gryffindors back to the Great Hall.

Glumly Harry leaned back against a wall while all his housemates chattered loudly about this and that, but especially Sirius Black.

"Kind of scary," Hermione said, "but also funny, that he timed it so that he'd be here on Halloween. A murderer loose in the school—like a haunted house."

"But the castle is haunted already," Ron said in confusion.

Harry blinked slowly and said, "Wait, he broke in on Halloween during the feast—the tower was empty."

"Yes, and how fortunate—"

"No," Harry insisted slowly, "No one was up there, and he used to go to school here so he'd know that on Halloween we'd all be at the feast!"

"We don't know that he went here—"

"He did," Ron informed them cheerfully, "mum and dad were talking about it before school started!"

"So he'd know no one was in the tower," Harry said again, "why would he break in to try and kill me if he knew I'd be," Harry motioned to the Great Hall, "down here?"

"He probably meant to just hide out until he could kill you in your sleep," Ron replied, "that's how I would do it."

"Glad we're roommates, Ron."

"That's not what I—"

"No, Ron's right, that would definitely be the best way to off you," Hermione agreed.

"Did she just say what I think she said?" Ron gasped.

"Revel in the moment Ron, it'll never happen again," Hermione replied, with a terribly smug grin. "But I suppose you have a point Harry, it's almost as if he were trying to burgle the tower rather than carry out a murder."

The doors to the Great Hall opened and a massive stream of confused and frightened Hufflepuffs piled in.

"They're going to bring everyone in here?" Hermione murmured in surprise.

Following after the Hufflepuffs were the Slytherins who seemed in rather good cheer, considering there was a murderer loose on the grounds.

"Nutters, the lot of them," Ron muttered.

"Black would probably leave them all alone," Harry added, "Since their parents were all Death Eaters—"

"Harry!" Hermione chided with a gasp, "We don't know that!"

Harry shrugged it off, and then realized that if Black _was_ trying to kill him, then that would render his previous statement untrue…he didn't feel like explaining all that to Hermione though. But it was highly likely that like Snape, Sirius Black probably hadn't known the truth about Harry, and it was likely that Black would never find out.

With no small amount of relief, Harry realized that no one else ever had to find out.

The doors opened again with the arrival of the Ravenclaws, and the doors were firmly locked when the last of the students straggled in. Harry slid down to the floor and Ron and Hermione followed his example.

"I wonder how long we'll be in here," Hermione said softly.

"Probably until they find and arrest Sirius Black," Ron replied, "they're probably looking for him now, with the dementors," the three shuddered, "I bet he went down to the dungeons to hide."

Time seemed to pass very slowly, and then after a while, Dumbledore reappeared, and all the tables were removed to be replaced with hundreds of fluffy purple sleeping bags. Then he left once more, probably to help the teachers not in the hall finish the search

"Like a giant sleepover," Hermione said with a small smile, as they dragged their sleeping bags off to a corner, "this is really kind of fun even though it shouldn't be."

Harry smiled in agreement and the three of them settled into their sleeping bags, talking quietly to each other as teachers patrolled to make sure nothing unseemly was going on. Harry realized it was pretty much what they did every night, but easier since they didn't have to patrol the whole castle.

After a while, Harry didn't know how long, he woke up from sleep—the great hall was very dim and the dull roar of conversation had finally quieted.

Harry realized that Dumbledore was standing nearby, quietly conversing with one of the teachers who had remained in the hall to look after the students, and Harry slowly rolled over so he could try to listen to the conversation they were having, when he heard footsteps approaching—Harry closed his eyes and quickly pretended to be asleep.

"Headmaster, the search of the castle has been completed," Harry heard Snape say, quietly, "as predicted there was no sign of Black."

"I suspected as much," Dumbledore sighed.

"I feel the need to once again bring up my concerns from the beginning of the school year," Snape said. "I believe that Black would not be able to slip in and out of the castle so easily if—"

"This conversation does not bear rehashing," Dumbledore interjected smoothly. "And if I do say so myself—"

"The man is a murderer," Snape hissed, "a cold-blooded killer prone to betrayal, and he is still at large after managing to infiltrate the school _and_ escape. Instead of planning for a replacement portrait we could be planning for an indefinite close due to a blatant lack of security."

"I understand that—"

"I know, and quite appreciate that it is in your nature to see the best in people and to forgive," Snape continued, and Harry was shocked at the compliment—Harry didn't know that Snape could compliment even Dumbledore or anyone really! "However, if you don't do something to find and prevent Black from coming here again—"

"And what do you propose I do, Severus?" The headmaster countered sternly, "You helped with the search as well and know as well as I do that the castle is full of holes and hidden passages. If someone really wished to enter the castle and do harm they surely could, as the last two years have proven."

Snape was silent for a moment and then said, though it was clear he was at a loss, "You're endangering students by not tightening security."

"Black's mania seems to be fairly limited," Dumbledore said slowly, "to one student."

"Which is why he attempted to break into a tower which is normally inhabited by numerous children...and you can't be seriously considering having that deranged portrait—"

"We're lucky I managed to convince even Sir Cadogan," Dumbledore replied, "surely you noticed how studiously all the portraits were avoiding me."

Snape's silence showed that he had indeed noticed, and then just as Dumbledore turned to leave Snape said, "Relocate the students."

The headmaster inhaled sharply and turned slowly, studying ever single feature of Snape's completely hard, expressionless face.

"We'll continue this conversation in my office," Dumbledore said finally.

Snape took a couple of steps until he was standing before Dumbledore and hissed, "Black is clearly hell-bent on revenge and he won't stop until he has it, and I can't see how that would be in your best interests…."

Dumbledore continued his in-depth study of Snape and finally he said, "I will consider all your input, Professor."

Snape inclined his head, his extremely hard expression softening and he turned away, setting off to join the other professors in patrolling the hall.

It was odd, even though Harry knew in theory that Snape was a good guy after first year, to hear such concerns coming from his own mouth. It was especially perplexing, in a way that made Harry's stomach and head churn, to hear that Snape wanted to protect _him._

* * *

><p>Please review and let me know what you think!<p> 


	10. Maybe a kneazle?

Well, I finally managed to make it through all the boring parts I wasn't keen on writing, and thought up some twists that I'm rather proud of, I've still got four chapters written before I run out of material-all in all I'm quite pleased. I also have this problem where I write pages and pages of things that would take place in fourth year and I'm not even sure if I want to bother with fourth year in this story XD not a big success, lol

Nonetheless! This chapter and the next few were a bit difficult to write because they seemed so slow moving to me, but they're kind of plotty bits, I guess? Or at least they're all so closely interconnected I can't delete one section without having to go back and delete all the other related sections XD

Still, I hope you guys like this chapter, and I'll stop rambling now! :D

**Chapter Ten: Maybe a kneazle?**

In the aftermath of Halloween night Harry decided to face life with a new philosophy: if you ignore it, hopefully it will go away.

It didn't seem to be working on Percy, who apparently thought he was so mighty a warrior that even the portrait killer Sirius Black would run in terror from his pompousness.

"Shove off Percy!" Ron yelled for the fifth time today, "We're trying to do homework!"

They were really that desperate to get rid of him that they would even resort to doing homework with Hermione.

"I can help!" Percy chirped happily, and sat down—he'd only been hovering before! Harry glared at Ron who was gaping, his face all blotchy.

"But!" Ron stuttered out, "We have Hermione!"

"Yes!" Harry agreed, "We only need one person to help us!"

Hermione didn't seem aware that they were talking about her, she was buried behind so many books that it probably blocked out the sound of their voices. Just how was she taking so many classes anyway? Probably independent study, she was probably responsible enough to teach herself all those different subjects.

"Hermione looks like she has plenty to study," Percy said, not looking the least bit convinced, "So what are you two working on?"

"Actually!" Harry declared, quickly standing up, and shoving all of his books into his bag in one motion, "I just remembered I needed to ask Hagrid a question!"

"Yes!" Ron agreed hurriedly, not bothering with his books, "we need to ask Hagrid a question about a class that you didn't take, so we'd best be off!"

The two of them ran off, and Madam Pince's yells rang down the hallway after them. They stopped running when they reached an empty hallway and stood there, trying to catch their breath.

"Sorry," Ron panted, "I bet my mom put him up to it."

"He'd be rubbish as a bodyguard anyway," Harry muttered, "Now Fred and George could do some damage."

Ron snickered and Harry grinned as he thought of how Fred and George would booby trap the whole castle to defend Harry, and everyone—especially Professor Snape would get caught in them constantly because the twins wouldn't limit them to just Sirius Black.

"Not a bad idea, really," Ron said with a grin, "we should put them up to it."

"Nah," Harry said, shaking his head, "they'd probably mess the whole school up and say they were just trying to help out."

"Yeah, they do that all the time at home," Ron said morosely and he kicked the wall, "now they don't have to do any chores."

Harry wasn't sure why the Weasleys would have chores to begin with—wouldn't magic take care of everything for them anyway?

Harry set off down the hallway, dragging his feet under him, the noise echoing down the hallway kind of eerily. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Ron was following silently behind him, as Harry turned away he caught sight of a nearby window—it had a perfect view of the quidditch pitch. Harry strode over to it and stared down at the empty field.

"Excited about the game?"

Harry shrugged and replied, "Excited to play more than anything."

"I heard they want to limit the practices," Ron commented, "which is total rubbish!"

"Total rubbish," Harry agreed, and he tilted his head just enough that he caught sight of something on the field. Blinking, he leaned forward until his head was against the glass and then he stared until he finally figured out that the black mass was a dog—a very large black dog. Just like in the dreams he'd been having lately, where he was wrapped in scarlet and just beyond he could barely see the dog and the two suns in the glasses…

"Do you see," Harry pointed to it, and Ron pressed his nose against the glass staring down as well, "the dog?"

Ron's brows scrunched deeply and then he cupped his hands around his eyes as if they were binoculars and then said, "Yeah, wonder what it's doing down there."

Harry shrugged though Ron wouldn't see and then Ron added, "And there's something else with it, an orange sort of thing."

"Maybe a kneazle?" Harry suggested, "Hagrid said he wanted to get some for class."

"Reminds me, mate," Ron said, pulling his attention away from the window, "you were acting right odd last time we went to visit him."

"I was just thinking about stuff," Harry replied, a little too quickly, it seemed from the way Ron began to look suspicious rather than curious. Harry remembered more about all the strange magical effects from the potion Snape had given him than the actual weekend itself. Suffice it to say, that Harry remembered nothing of what happened at Hagrid's except for the way the warming spells that had been used on the tea stuck to his hands.

"Like what?" Ron demanded.

"You know," Harry said, nodding towards the window, his mind easily wandering to the recurring dreams he'd been having, "I've been having odd dreams about black dogs."

"Sounds like the rubbish you write for Trelawney," Ron scoffed, not wanting to be deterred from getting his answers, "I'm not Trelawney! You won't get away with saying rubbish like," Ron's voice went all high-pitched and he began mocking, "'I saw a dog on the quidditch pitch like I been dreaming about! Must be the grim!'"

"I don't talk like that!"

Harry did _not_ talk like that!

"_I don't talk like that_," Ron mocked in his falsetto, blinking hurriedly and making a kissy face at Harry.

"Bloody twit!" Harry growled and he shoved Ron, not hard, but just enough to get the point across, "Besides, I saw another black dog the night I left the Dursleys—"

"Think it's following you?" Ron asked with a snicker.

"Well, of course it is," Harry said rolling his eyes, "_obviously_ it's the _grim_, and it's going to follow me until _I die_!"

"Oh right!" Ron exclaimed slapping himself in the face, "How could I forget!"

"Prat," Harry snorted in affectionate amusement, "bit weird though, right? Dreaming about a dog and then seeing it?"

"I dream about eating chocolate," Ron replied with a shrug, "and then later when I'm awake I eat chocolate."

"This is why we have to make up stuff for Divinations; you know that, right, Ron?"

"Dunno, you could probably write that stuff, and Trelawney would love it," Ron said, rubbing his forehead, "but only if you called it the grim and not a big black dog."

"What do you think she'd say it meant?" Harry asked, as he watched the dog trot off to the forest and the kneazle dart off in the opposite direction.

"Don't think you should be asking for Trelawney's opinion," Ron advised sagely, "or mine, but I'll tell you what I think anyway—I think it's right odd you're dreaming about stuff you've been seeing since summer, and I think it means that you've probably got more divinations-ical talent in your pinky than that fraud's got in her whole third eye."

And that was why it didn't take a person with a lot of divinations-ical talent to see why Ron was Harry's best friend.

But that didn't explain why Ron still had to do chores considering that there was magic.

"What kind of chores do you have to do anyways?"

"Well, there are the gnomes, of course…"

* * *

><p>Harry was not allowed to practice fire charms with the rest of the class when Flitwick decided out of the blue to cover them. Not that he would be missing much, the lecture portion of the lesson managed to take almost the entire two hour class time. So Harry tapped his wand against the parchment that he'd used to take notes on—he normally didn't take notes in Charms because theory wasn't as important as in…say…Transfigurations, but Flitwick had also decided out of the blue to grade their notes from the class.<p>

Hermione was happily producing piles of her blue-bell flames and Ron was gleefully setting Dean on fire.

Harry spun his wand between his fingers and frowned, this was like when he was younger and Dudley would keep all the other kids from playing with him—he would be surrounded by everyone else having fun, but unable to participate…That wasn't to say that Harry didn't realize _why_ they'd had this lesson, or why he couldn't set things on fire as well. It was obvious really; Harry's fires would not be harmless and this course in fire safety was a direct result of Harry burning off his own face.

Harry scratched his brand-new skin and looked over to Neville, he wasn't managing to make any fire, but he was managing to make a lot of orange gloop.

Still frowning Harry stared down at his notes until the words all blurred together, and the sound of his classmates turned into a nonsensical roar...and then the bell rang and Harry quickly jumped to his feet, bored out of his mind and more than ready to leave.

"Mr. Potter!" Flitwick chirruped over the noise of the classroom, "I wonder if you would stay behind a moment?"

Harry wondered why professors worded orders as if they were requests and the student could say no. Briefly Harry debated saying no, that he couldn't stay behind today, but perhaps another time just to see what would happen…but decided he didn't want any more detentions after how well the last few had gone.

Dragging his feet, and avoiding Hermione's gaze Harry made his way up to where Flitwick stood upon his desk so that he could keep watch over the classroom.

"Yes sir?" Harry asked, feeling a headache beginning on the sides of his head. His eyes couldn't help but drift longingly to where the rest of the Gryffindors were rushing out of the classroom, joking and laughing.

"Ah yes!" Flitwick said happily, and he hopped down from the desk. He gleefully rubbed his hands together and said, "I wanted to run through a few exercises with you today."

"Exercises?" Harry repeated skeptically, "what do you—"

"I was wondering if you could try casting blue bell flames for me," Flitwick continued as if Harry hadn't even spoken, "aim for the back of the classroom, cast as you would any other spell."

Harry readied his wand and then cast the spell, but instead of harmless flames spreading from his wand like little flowers; large balls of white flame burst forth and promptly caught several desks and part of the floor on fire.

Flitwick hmmed solemnly as if he'd expected that to happen, and tapped his chin as he thoughtfully watched the classroom burn.

Harry wondered if he should maybe do something to stop the fire…

Flitwick clapped his hands as if he'd finally come to a conclusion on the matter and then, with a wave of his wand the fire was put out and all that remained were ashes and half-burned furniture.

"Again, please, Mr. Potter."

Uneasy, Harry once more cast the charm without holding back and the spell produced the same results.

"May I see your wand for a moment?" Flitwick asked and Harry wasn't sure that he should, but he figured if he couldn't trust a teacher, then who could he trust…not even Snape had proven himself exceptionally dangerous or untrustworthy, even when Harry was incredibly vulnerable to attack. Harry held his wand out and Flitwick carefully took it and examined it for a moment before saying, "Could you cast the spell once more?"

Startled Harry blinked and stammered, "but my—"

"It's my understanding that you've previously been able to produce fire without your wand in hand," Flitwick hedged, his tone testing.

This was true, but, "That's different!"

"How so, Mr. Potter?" Flitwick asked, with his head tilted and Harry couldn't help but feel that he was being interrogated.

"I can only do it when I focus on something," Harry explained, "something specific—"

"So you weren't aiming for the back of the classroom then?" Flitwick asked with a smile, and Harry blinked in shock before blushing and shaking his head, "Once more, Mr. Potter, with focus."

Lips pursed Harry turned to look at the back wall of the classroom, and decided on a spot to burn. He readied his wand and cast and this time, a white bolt flew from his wand with enough force to knock him back a step. The fire was so bright that Harry wondered if he'd burned his eyes out, but after a few blinks the room—or rather the lack of room came into focus.

"Well," Flitwick said slowly, "I have been trying to talk the headmaster into granting me a larger room."

Harry swallowed and then said, "I didn't mean to…"

"Of course you didn't!" Flitwick said easily, completely unconcerned, "if I had been worried about the classroom I would have told you not to destroy anything, no, no, I'm trying to figure out how much control you lack so that we can get this," the professor waved a small hand quickly, signifying that Harry was the 'this' he spoke of, "sorted out."

"Wait," Harry demanded, alarmed at what this could mean, "What does that mean?"

"We can't have you accidentally burning yourself and your classmates several times a week," Flitwick said, and though his tone wasn't accusing, it was in fact rather calm and understanding—which somehow served to remind Harry that he _was_ a head of house and he probably had to be calm and understanding fairly often. But then Snape was also a head of house and he was certainly none of the above. "With enough practice though, we can get this all under control."

Harry didn't think that was the best plan, he'd certainly burned up enough things recently on purpose and accidentally—it wasn't as though he was lacking _practice_.

"So I just have to destroy this classroom enough times and then I won't destroy anything else?"

Flitwick just stared at Harry as if he couldn't believe that those words had just come out of Harry's mouth in that specific order, but they had. Harry reiterated, "Because that's how this practice is going to work then?"

After a long moment of Flitwick staring at him as if he suddenly understood why Harry was Snape's least favorite student, the professor said, "Perhaps we need to address this another way."

"How?" Harry demanded getting impatient. "I admit sometimes I do it on purpose, but sometimes it's on accident and if I just sit here and zap everything out of existence it's not going to make me stop doing it other places!"

Flitwick looked a bit taken aback by something Harry said, and he asked, "So you can produce fire on command?"

Harry blinked, confused, "I thought you knew…"

"Tell me every time you've created a fire, intentionally or unintentionally," Flitwick said, as he walked behind his desk and sat down—he looked like an odd, wrinkly child sitting at and adult's desk and Harry shuffled his feet as he awkwardly stood in front of the desk. He wished he could sit down so he'd feel less like he was in a courtroom about to be sentenced.

"Well," Harry said slowly, wondering if he should admit that he'd set Snape's things on fire and also tried to set Snape himself on fire…after a moment though, he realized that he'd hurt his friends more than he'd ever hurt Snape with his…abilities, and he'd rather not burn his friends up into nothing. "First…there was Snape's quill."

"Professor Snape's quill?" Flitwick asked, as if he couldn't believe Harry was talking about Severus Snape, that perhaps Harry meant another Snape.

Harry nodded his head in solemn agreement, "and that was kind of an on purpose accident," Harry tried to explain, "I wanted to burn it, but it just happened without me really consciously making it…and then I set a bunch of Snape's other things on fire…on purpose, and then the next morning I set some parchment on fire for Ron and Hermione, on purpose."

Harry paused for a moment, thoughtfully recalling all that happened since and just what he'd burned and realized, "Ever since then, it's all been on accident…"

"You mean burning Miss Granger and the incident in your potions class?"

"And," Harry paused when he remembered lighting fired with his wand when he'd just been trying to produce light, "one time," Harry swallowed at the sensitive memories of the evening when he'd burned Hermione and when he'd looked over his photo album, "I tried to cast lumos…and…"

"I take it didn't go all that well?" Flitwick asked with his same calm and understanding tone. Harry was abruptly reminded of how Professor Lupin spoke to him or Snape with his own calm and understanding tone of voice…Harry really must be a wild beast in need of taming for everyone to talk to him as if he were likely to—Harry bit his lip to try and keep the inappropriate, mostly hysterical laughter in—_likely to set everyone on fire_.

Flitwick didn't seem a bit troubled by Harry admitting this, merely thoughtful—the professor was a true academic, it seemed. He merely had to think through Harry's fiery bouts, which was fortunate as Harry wasn't really keen on thinking through much of anything going on in his life at the moment. Especially not now when he felt sick and like his whole life was entirely out of his control, an assumption which Harry found reasonable considering he couldn't really control his magic, his emotions, or the people around him.

Flitwick hummed to himself as he considered all that Harry had said and then finally came to a conclusion, he returned Harry's wand and asked, "All the times you managed to successfully produce fires on purpose, were you using your wand?"

Harry shook his head, and Flitwick looked as if he'd found the solution. A wave of Flitwick's wand and a few murmured charms had the newly renovated room cleaned up, and Harry couldn't help but be impressed it looked as if no damage had been done to the room at all…excluding the telling lack of desks.

Something hit Harry in the head, and he blinked and shook his head trying to get his bearings back. It was a pillow, and it seemed to come from one of the supply cabinets that Flitwick was digging through.

"I know I have several more of those," Flitwick's muffled voice came from inside the cabinet, "just have to find them, while I look you try to burn that fellow to smithereens just as you did Snape's quill."

That meant wandlessly then, Harry decided and he tossed the throw pillow a bit as he wondered if this would make much difference in his control…probably would help more than destroying whole walls. Harry shrugged and tossed the pillow to the floor—time to get started, then.

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Hope you liked it! :D


	11. Mr Potter's Tea Leaves

_Still own nothing having to do with Harry Potter and I'm not making any money off of this!_

Um, not much going on here, but there are several fun bits-I actually cut this chapter in half, because the fun bits came after I wrote all the tedious bits...so next installment soon to follow...anyways! **Many, many thanks to everyone that took the time to review! I love reading each and every one of them!**

**Chapter Eleven: Mr. Potter's Tea Leaves**

"Professor! Professor!" Hermione exclaimed, and Harry couldn't help but feel some displacement from seeing studious and active participant Hermione in the Divinations classroom. The two had never really gone together, and Harry knew that the only reasons the two worlds had collided now was because Hermione was apparently an incredible actress.

Trelawney glided over saying, "My third eye has seen that this class would make a believer of a true skeptic, my dear, what has the other world shared with you?"

Hermione held up her tiny tea cup and looked, wide-eyed and alarmed, up at Trelawney because she was apparently an _incredible_ actress.

Trelawney looked into the tea cup for a very long while, as if her brain had shut down and she was waiting for it to reboot, as if it were one of the computers in the tiny lab at Harry's old muggle school.

Hermione broke character long enough to send a smug look Harry's way and Harry gave her a big grin, and Ron was laughing behind his hands, desperately trying to keep from making noise.

"My third eye," Trelawney said slowly, and Pavarti and Lavender hung suspensefully off the professor's every word, "had not shown me this possible outcome—but our every movement can change the outcome of the fates."

Hermione's eyes rolled so hard Harry was surprised they didn't fall out of her head, but Trelawney didn't notice she was so caught up in her fateful monologue.

"I have now seen," Trelawney exclaimed, throwing her hand over her forehead dramatically, and she strode to the front of the classroom, "that two of our number have been called together." Trelawney's next dramatic motion revealed the contents of Hermione's cup to the whole classroom, "Behold! It is the same symbol of eternal happiness which has begun to grace our own Mr. Potter's tea leaves!"

Pavarti and Lavender let out little happy sighs and Harry was sure their ears were ringing with the sound of wedding bells, and Harry dared to look over at Hermione and she looked as pleased as Crookshanks whenever someone dropped some food on the floor of the common room. All was going as she'd planned.

The rest of the class twittered about the news and Harry caught sight of Dean and Seamus rolling their eyes and feigning gagging themselves.

The rest of the class turned into a course on auspicious symbolism in weddings.

Harry was sure he'd rather be dying a horrific death.

* * *

><p>"I liked class a lot better when you were going to die," Dean declared, "all this lovey dovey stuff is going to make me barf—"<p>

"I swear if you two ever do pair off, I'll hex you blind!" Seamus interjected, and then he seemed to realize that he didn't know any spells which could blind and asked, somewhat sheepishly, "which reminds me, Hermione, think you could help me do research for this special project I have?"

Everyone laughed and Dean smacked Seamus in the back of the head.

"Think you could teach me that spell?" Neville asked, "She keeps telling me that she sees me with a giant snake, which makes no sense at all—"

"Maybe next time a basilisk shows up you'll do the slaying," Ron said with a snicker.

"Yeah, I'm not really up for slaying another giant snake," Harry said, playfully slapping Neville in the arm, "next one's all yours, mate!"

Neville didn't look comforted.

The small group of Gryffindors fell silent as Malfoy and his posse passed by, not wanting the Slytherins to overhear anything and gain some ammunition to use against them in the future. The Slytherin's mostly ignored them, but Malfoy did glance over his shoulder just once to glare at Harry who made a face back.

Once they were out of earshot Ron growled angrily.

"I'm sure Malfoy's arm will somehow manage to completely heal just in time for the quidditch game," Ron said snidely.

"Or the next time he needs his arm," Hermione added tossing her bushy hair in annoyance.

"What gets me," Harry said, "is that he's still taking Hagrid's class—why hasn't he dropped it?"

"You have to take at least two elective courses," Hermione explained, "and if you miss your chance to enroll you get terribly behind—"

"So clearly the best solution is to enroll in all of them, like you, so you can keep only the two you like best," Ron said teasingly, "right, Hermione?"

"Clearly," Hermione agreed, her tone rife with sarcasm, making it clear she didn't find Ron funny.

Harry hoped they wouldn't start arguing again.

"Come on guys, no need to get all fired up," Seamus said happily, and slung his arms over Ron and Hermione's shoulders, "if the golden trio can't even keep peace, then what hope do the rest of us have?"

Ron flung Seamus' arm away growling, "Shove off, Finnegan!"

"Ooh, I'm so scared," Seamus mocked, "shaking in my trainers!"

"I'll give you something to be scared of!" Ron yelled and the two of them took off running and Hermione rolled her eyes and Neville sidled up next to her, wanting to check and make sure he had the correct incantation for Transfigurations before they made it to the classroom.

Transfigurations consisted of turning little porcelain figurines into a set of silver cutlery.

No one had much luck with it, though Hermione did manage to make three silvery blobs out of her jaguar statuette before Harry caused a small panic by setting his figurine of a blue elephant holding balloons on fire.

So it came as no surprise when McGonagall asked him to stay after class.

As everyone else headed out of the classroom, Harry slowly plodded his way up to McGonagall's desk waiting for her to say her bit so he could leave.

And you know, with everything else going on Harry had pretty much forgotten that Sirius Black was still at large, but apparently he was still everyone's number one worry, which meant everyone was way too concerned with Harry's every move.

"Mr. Potter, do you understand what I'm saying?"

And here Harry'd thought she wanted to talk to him he'd accidentally set his miniature elephant statue on fire…he couldn't help but wonder if that meant he'd not automatically failed the assignment…he also couldn't help but feel that he'd done humanity a favor.

"Yeah, Sirius Black is trying to off me," Harry replied, "but really, when isn't someone trying to off me?"

That apparently wasn't the response McGonagall was looking for.

"The other professors and I have been discussing the situation, and it is clear that Black has been remaining nearby…"

Again, Harry had to wonder how everyone knew where Sirius Black was, but they still couldn't manage to find him! McGonagall hadn't continued, it was as if she wanted this bit of information to sink in until it terrified Harry into agreeing to whatever the point of this conversation was.

"Well," Harry replied after he got tired of waiting, "if he really is trying to kill me, it'd be pretty stupid of him to leave."

Professor McGonagall blinked and looked a bit exhausted, probably because of Harry's attitude, "Indeed."

"So," Harry demanded, "what is it that you want me to do?"

"We think that it would be best if you," McGonagall grimaced and had to force the words out as if they were painful, burning acid that would eventually kill her if she didn't expel them, "either withdrew from the team or stopped attending practices. The later practice time will make you and your teammates vulnerable to Black, and the safety of all students is paramount—"

"That's stu—that doesn't make any sense!" Harry exclaimed, angry beyond belief that they were going to try and make him quit the team, just because some crazy person wanted to kill him, "He made it into the castle before! He can probably do it again if he wanted! Where I am won't matter, all that matters is when he's keen to try again!"

McGonagall didn't seem fazed and asked, "So you're going to remain on the team then?"

"Of course!" Harry replied, "I can't let one man keep me from living my life."

McGonagall gained that small smile she always got whenever she was trying to pretend not to be proud or amused and replied, "You are, of course, free to do whatever you wish, I was merely letting you know of official stance of the staff and magical law enforcement, you're free to go Mr. Potter."

Harry left the classroom, feeling pleased because he would still be playing quidditch and showing that Black didn't frighten him and neither did the teachers or anyone else, but also because he apparently didn't fail the lesson for burning his elephant statue.

Harry liked to believe it was because McGonagall didn't like the ugly little elephant figurine either.

* * *

><p>"I think you did it on purpose that time," Hermione declared, "because you thought my jaguar was ugly and you tried to catch fire to mine too, and you found the exercise frustrating, so you thought you'd just set fire to it on purpose and pass it off as an accident."<p>

She primly turned the page and Harry kind of hated how she managed to look like a younger Madam Pince.

"I think you are trying to make me out to be some kind of bad person," Harry retorted, "and by the way, I'm not. I think I saved your life last year, remember? If you have problems recalling, I understand as you were dying at the time."

"I was petrified," Hermione corrected, "I would have been just fine until the cure was brewed."

Harry and Ron shared an exasperated look.

"Besides," Hermione continued, "I seem to recall saving _both_ of your lives several times first year _and_ telling you what it was that petrified me last year."

"What's that word I'm looking for Harry?" Ron asked, tilting his head thoughtfully and snapping to try and make the word hurry from his head to his mouth.

"Superfluous," Harry supplied.

"That's superfluous, Hermione," Ron informed her.

Hermione glared at the two of them and replied, "You don't even know what that mea—"

"Beside the point," Ron and Harry chorused happily.

"Well, maybe next time, you should set Ron's figurine on fire," Hermione huffed, "he looked like he was doing a rubbish job at his transfiguration, but I—"

"Yeah, mate!" Ron exclaimed, "That's a brilliant idea! Hermione you're brilliant!"

Hermione didn't appear to feel brilliant for making that suggestion.

"Do you think you could, mate?" Ron asked, looking way too hopeful.

Harry shook his head and replied, "First of all, I didn't do it on purpose, second of all, it wasn't anywhere near your figurine Hermione!"

"Well, maybe we should just measure the scorch marks on the desks then," Hermione declared brandishing a ruler.

"Why do you have a ruler?" Harry demanded, "Who does that?"

"What is that?" Ron exclaimed, snatching the ruler from Hermione's hands, "what's it do? I thought muggle things didn't work here?"

Hermione snatched the ruler back from Ron's hand and hit him over the head with it.

"Can we _please_ get back on subject then?" Hermione demanded, "We only have 20 more minutes until defense, and I'd like to have more research done before—"

"Fred and George don't put this much work into pranking a teacher," Ron said glumly.

"Of course they do," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes, "they experiment constantly, they spend a lot of time trying to perfect each and every prank, you live with them and you're always on about how they blew this or that up and how they turned this or that into a sponge. That's research!"

"I'd rather be turning things into pink sponges than be sitting in the library reading musty books," Ron groused.

"Then you probably shouldn't let Harry burn up your transfigurations work, you'll need all the practice you can get."

* * *

><p>That's it for now! Let me know what you think!<p> 


	12. The Last Thing He'd Ever Do

**Thanks so much to everyone that reviewed!**

Yet even more of the bit of this fic that took forever to write...but after this things get very interesting :3 I really like the scenes coming up! So just remember that after this tedious chapter there's interesting things XD enjoy!

**Chapter Twelve: The Last Thing He'd Ever Do**

Harry was pretty sure this was a nightmare of his, walking into Defense and finding Snape at the head of the classroom.

It had to be a nightmare actually, everything was kind of blurring out of focus, and he could hear breathing.

A hand grabbed his arm and Harry jerked, apparently this was not a dream—he had just been hyperventilating. He gasped and held his breath for a second, trying to get his bearings back. Ron used his hold on Harry's shoulder to pull himself closer and lowly, warily asked, "Think he just got lost and needs directions back to the dungeons?"

"There goes your vampire theory, mate," Harry replied, "He's standing right in the sun there."

"I still believe he has some sort of sunblock, like what he wears during quidditch matches," Ron countered, "maybe he's just here to tell us Lupin's going to be late?"

"Maybe we slept through a few months and it's actually April fool's," Harry suggested.

"Have to manage to grow a sense of humor in that time too," Ron muttered and gave Harry a frown before releasing his shoulder and heading to the back of the classroom, narrowly beating Neville to the seat farthest from the front.

Harry decided they had the right idea and quickly followed them.

Snape stood at the front of the classroom, pacing like a caged animal.

Hermione slipped into the seat next to Harry, not looking at all pleased to be sitting at the rear of the classroom, and in that moment Harry kind of hated her for not caring that Snape was here. Harry wished he knew how to make himself appear ill so he could get out of class right now, he vaguely remembered overhearing one boy in nursery school saying he'd gotten sent home for sticking his finger down his throat until he threw up…maybe if Harry were really sneaky…

"Now that everyone is in attendance we can begin," Snape said and the sound of his voice made Harry shudder, he really wished he knew how to apparate.

"You can't apparate on Hogwarts' grounds," Hermione whispered softly, "how many times do I have to tell you, the wards—"

Harry hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"_Hogwarts, A History_," Harry whispered back, "Read it, I know."

Hermione didn't seem happy that Harry had listened to her all those times before, she was always complaining about how he and Ron never listen to her and when faced with proof that he did she didn't care at all. It made him feel rather put-out, more so than he probably should be…Clearly, Harry should stop listening to her since she clearly didn't appreciate it and why was Snape telling them to flip to the section of the book on werewolves? This just reeked of an unauthorized pop quiz that would somehow manage to count for half their grade even though Snape was just substituting for Lupin.

Harry glanced over to Hermione to plead for help with his eyes, when he noticed that odd gleam in her eye that signaled she was in the mood to fight.

Well, Harry was not in the mood to be noticed by Snape.

"But—" Hermione said loudly, and Harry jammed his quill into her arm and the rest of her sentence turned into a scream.

Everyone turned to stare at the two of them, and Harry felt like all of his blood relocated to his face from how embarrassed he was. Slowly, Harry extracted his quill from Hermione's arm, and turned to look at the window.

Hermione was fuming next to him; Harry could almost feel the fumes.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, and detention with Mr. Filtch this evening Mr. Potter," Snape growled, and Harry could only feel relieved that his detention wasn't with Snape.

Then Snape moved a few steps as if considering what to do next, and then when he decided he paused, awkwardly frozen, for a moment.

"Remain after class, Potter," Snape said, his voice low, threatening, and inspiring of fear for Harry's life.

This sounded like an invitation Harry would direly like to refuse…Harry wondered if he could manage to get away with just leaving…probably be the bravest thing he'd ever do.

Probably be the last thing he'd ever do.

Snape began harshly questioning Dean Thomas about his knowledge of werewolves, and Hermione took advantage of his distraction to turn her full attention to Harry.

At least she would be arguing with him and not Snape? Though his initial plan to avoid notice had failed drastically so he'd pretty much just hurt her for no reason...

"Sorry," Harry offered weakly, and Hermione did not look pleased.

"I'm bleeding!" She hissed sharply, brandishing her arm.

"Sorry?" Harry said again, ducking his head, "I mean, I just…"

"And now we're having to do this section on werewolves because Snape doesn—"

"Snape _does_," Harry corrected, "he knows exactly what he's doing, does he _really_ seem like the sort to randomly do something—he picked werewolves for a reason."

"What reason?" Hermione demanded, dubiously, "what reason could he _possibly_—"

"Have something to offer to the rest of the classroom, Miss Granger?" Snape demanded, there was nothing inherently evil in his tone, which made the question all the more frightening.

Hermione didn't even blink before responding, "I just find it particularly interesting that the most well-known marks of werewolf identification are myths, and not really remotely helpful in actual identification…"

Snape didn't seem pleased and his face drew back into an awful sneer, "Just so, now, Mr. Thomas, what does that tell you about the quality of your answers?"

Dean shrank down into his chair looking a bit ill, and weakly replied, "They're rubbish?"

"Indeed, five points from Gryffindor."

Snape prowled off to find his next victim.

"Now," Hermione whispered, smug that Snape finally accepted one of her answers, "what could Snape possibly gain from teaching us about werewolves?"

Harry shrugged, and then said, "And I'm sorry, really."

"Don't worry about it," Hermione replied, shrugging, "I'll get you back after class."

* * *

><p>"Professor McGonagall informs me you wish to take part in practices with your team," Snape said, his tone conversational and Harry knew this was a trap, somehow.<p>

The window was probably his best bet for escape—Harry knew from extensive study during second year that there was a ledge outside of the window and he could probably make a break for it that way. Snape was too tall to have good balance and speed on such a narrow surface, so Harry was sure his chances were good.

"Potter!" Snape growled and Harry jumped in alarm and turned his full attention back to Snape, "Now, is what your head of house told me true?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, crossing his arms, "and so what? I'm on the team, I need to practice!"

"Black is in the near vicinity, I'm sure of it," Snape said and Harry wondered why he wasn't the divinations teacher if he had such a keen sixth sense. "And you wish to make yourself vulnerable to a known killer and madman, why?"

Harry shrugged and replied, "I'd rather be playing quidditch than sitting in the stands?"

Snape didn't look impressed and replied, "You will quit the team or cease attending practices."

"Fat chance!" Harry replied, pushing himself firmly to his feet and desperately wishing to set the entire classroom on fire simply because of its association with Snape. Harry began storming towards the door, "And you can't make me!"

Snape simply leveled Harry with a very stern look, and Harry felt a chill shoot down his spine and settle in his abdomen like a hard, cold rock. Snape's gaze seemed to pin him to the floor and he felt a bit weary and lightheaded and as though he had no control over his own body.

"I strongly advise you to consider my words and if not mine, your own head of house's," Snape said, eyes glinting harshly, and the spell over Harry seemed to be broken and he again attempted to leave the classroom, this time faster, "your head of house had nothing to gain from advising you to remain in safety, you know that much Potter."

Harry stopped and glanced over his shoulder at Snape, the man was carefully considering Harry.

"I also have nothing to gain from your lack of participation," Snape concluded, also rising to his feet, and Harry realized that Snape could be trying to gain an easy victory over Gryffindor. Harry wouldn't put such low measures past the man, and was immediately put on guard. He waited for Snape to finish speaking, "The schedule has been changed, you will not face Slytherin until next year…at which point Black will have surely been removed as a threat."

Harry was dumbfounded.

Snape handed Harry a sheet of paper and brushed past Harry, stalking off down to the dungeons.

Harry looked down at the paper, and sure enough, it was a revised schedule.

Snape changed the quidditch schedule to prove that he didn't care about Slytherin's victory over Gryffindor. This must be serious, Harry decided.

Maybe he shouldn't play if even _Snape_ felt that Harry was in imminent danger.

* * *

><p>"Potter, I've been looking everywhere for you!"<p>

Harry looked up from the window and found Wood running towards him, waving papers—presumably more plays for the game against Slytherin that wasn't going to happen anymore.

Wood skidded to a halt in front of Harry, but he was amazingly not out of breath. Never let it be said that Wood was not athletic in all senses of the word.

"What is it?" Harry asked, trying to appear attentive, "More plays?"

"New ones," Wood replied quickly, "I've just come from the pitch, Hooch says that the schedule's been revised and we're now up against Hufflepuff Saturday."

Wood looked deeply perturbed about this and continued, very seriously, "This means that all of our plays are completely useless! This is terrible, we have to get ahead as soon as we can," Wood shoved the papers in Harry's face, "which is why I drew these up on my way here."

Harry was kind of frightened that Wood managed to put as much detail into these plays as he did on all of his usual ones. That sort of talent couldn't be natural.

"But—"

"And Diggory's just as good as ever, but you've got the better broom—"

"Wood—"

"And it's especially important to note that Drafton has a sprained right wrist so he'll be rubbish at beating—"

"—some professors—"

"—actually he may be left-handed, that could change everything—"

"—think—"

"And Codwell hasn't been trimming his broom so his turns will be a little wide—"

"—I should quit."

Wood froze and said nothing and Harry became seriously worried that he'd be placed under some sort of mind control spell and wake up at the end of the quidditch season…but only after he led the Gryffindors in a perfect season.

Then Wood seemed to deflate and for the first time he seemed to appear his age to Harry, instead of as a sort of old, distant quidditch guru who guided Harry to victory with infinite wisdom and determination of soul.

"Because of Black?" Wood asked, and he turned to stare out of the window which provided a perfect view of the pitch. Harry turned back around to look at the window as well, not really wanting to look at the infinite disappointment on Wood's face.

"Of course," Harry agreed, "they seem to think that it's dangerous for me to be out in the open…McGonagall gave the go-ahead to keep playing, but I've had other professors talk to me about it too…"

Wood nodded slowly, frowning deeply, "Are you going to quit?"

"I don't know," Harry said slowly, "I mean, I haven't decided yet, but I was just thinking it all over. I'm just not sure I want to stop playing until Black's caught…because if Black hasn't been caught yet, who knows how long it could take!"

Wood's hands came down heavily on Harry's shoulders and Harry jerked wildly in surprise.

"You know Harry," Wood said solemnly, "people always tell me that there are some things more important than quidditch."

Harry had no problem imagining these conversations; he also imagined them to be rather one-sided until Wood involved neatly drawn diagrams that oddly resembled quidditch plays.

"But," Wood said, "when I ask them for examples, they never seem to be able to back that claim up."

Harry rolled his eyes so hard that he was surprised that his eyes didn't fall out of his head; it was a good thing that Wood was behind him and couldn't see. Eye-rolling during serious conversations didn't usually go over too well.

"Do you know why, Harry?" Wood asked, and his tone implied that there was actually a reason for this conversation, and Harry really was curious to find out what it was.

"No, why?"

"Goes back to what my dad always says," Wood said with a proud tone, "he says that the most important thing you can ever do is what you love most and—"

Everyone knew that quidditch was what Wood loved most.

"—everyone knows that quidditch is what I love most of all. And that," Wood finished, "is why you should never let anyone tell you what and what not to do if you really care about what it is you're doing or not doing."

"So sod the teachers?" Harry asked.

"Sod the teachers," Wood agreed, and then he released Harry's shoulders and then firmly turned Harry around so that he could stare down into Harry's eyes. His face utterly serious and somehow wise after all he'd said, and he pointed a finger straight up in the air as if to add a bit of punctuation to the final bit of his speech, "_but_ _only_ if you love quidditch."

While Harry might not love quidditch most of all, he certainly did love it and he loved flying…and he wasn't keen on stopping either of those things because of Sirius Black—or Snape or McGonagall.

* * *

><p>Later Harry realized that the professors could have kept him from playing, removed him from the team, if they were <em>really<em> that concerned about Sirius Black.

Sod them all.

* * *

><p>That's the end of this chapter! Please review!<p> 


	13. Mousing About, Spying

**Thanks to everyone that reviewed! I'm glad everyone liked the last chapter!  
><strong>

I like this chapter, I like what happens in it

**Chapter Thirteen: Mousing About, Spying**

Harry mostly passed groups of Ravenclaws as he headed back up to the tower from the Great Hall, he'd been studying with the rest of his house, but finished early and quickly gotten bored. Besides most of his assignments were practical and mostly seemed to focus on control and fire safety…different from everyone else in his class, Harry _really_ couldn't fathom why, well, that was mostly the sarcasm talking there.

Harry was sure most of them would be heading down to the Great Hall to finish their homework, just as most of the Gryffindors would begin leaving to socialize and have fun.

Harry wondered what it was like to be in another house, it would probably be weird, and he probably wouldn't fit in as well. He thought back to the short period of time he'd spent down in the Slytherin common room last year and shuddered at the thought of having to spend _all_ of his time down there. It was kind of an odd thing, really, that they managed to have conversations about something besides the drafts down there.

Course Harry and his dorm-mates spent a fair amount of time complaining about their drafty window when the wind got cold and fierce.

Harry's steps faltered a beat when he realized the hallway was completely empty and had gone eerily silent. He shrugged it off and redoubled his pace, but walking faster didn't come in handy, seconds after he stepped onto the staircase, it shuddered and took off to another part of the school. Rolling his eyes, Harry held onto the rail and waiting, hoping it would take him to a part of the castle he knew.

Minutes later, it shuddered to stop in front of a dark, narrow hallway and Harry frowned. He had no clue where he was or how far from the tower he was, but it looked like he was somewhere on the fifth floor…

Harry set off down the hallway, and after a ways it split in two, and Harry picked one and to his relief he found himself back in a familiar hallway, the one where the charms classes were normally held.

He quickly set off down the empty hallway, trying to make up for the time he'd lost and get back to the tower as soon as possible.

"I can't believe that bastard changed the whole schedule around because of Malfoy's ruddy arm!"

Harry froze when he overheard the conversation, he was sure the voice was Fred's…or maybe George's. He wondered how the rumor had gotten started and was very relieved that the blame had been placed on Malfoy, rather than on himself.

The voices were coming from what appeared to be a small alcove, but Harry knew it to be a shortcut to the area where Transfigurations were held. Harry swallowed slowly and then crept a bit closer, waiting to hear more.

"Wood seemed like he was going to blow a gasket when he heard…"

"He said he was going to talk it over with McGonagall—"

Harry wondered if this conversation happened before or after Harry's conversation with Wood…maybe he decided to cover for Harry?

"I can't believe Snape got away with it—"

Harry fell back against the wall and continued listening, heart pounding in his chest. It wasn't that he couldn't understand that the rumor would come up, because it was really easy to believe that Snape would change the schedule around because of Malfoy. It made a lot more sense than Snape changing the schedule around because of Harry.

"—blatant favoritism—"

"—he should get fired, and Malfoy should get the shit beat out of him—"

"—volunteering?"

"Certainly not, dearest brother, I'm sure I could think of a better way to get Malfoy back for being a little twit—"

"But, the real reason I wanted to talk to you," Fred or George said furtively, voice dropping lower, and Harry, as quietly as he could, moved a bit closer. "I managed to get Peeves to talk—"

"And?" The other twin's voice had gone low and a bit…scared? Harry could feel his brow furrow as he tried to figure out what they could be talking about.

"He said that he's not a ghost, he was sure—unlike the others—said he heard it straight from the baron, and you know the baron knows everything going on in the castle," Fred or George took a deep breath and said, "Peeves said that he may be 'mousing about, spying, like the little rat he is' and, then I saw…the other name last night near the willow—"

"Again? And what could Peeves mean by that?"

"Beats me, but…I'm thinking…we should maybe do something—"

"Like what?" Fred or George sounded angry and frustrated an emotion Harry had an easier time envisioning on Ron than one of the twins, "Waltz up to one of the teachers and just hand it over? Who knows what they'd do to us?"

"I'm more worried about what—" the twin's voice went so low that Harry couldn't make out what they said next, "—will do to _everyone_!"

"There must be another way," Fred or George said, sighing loudly, and it was followed by a thudding noise. Maybe they'd punched or kicked the wall?

"Wait, I have an idea," the other twin declared and after a moment's hesitation, some rustling was heard and Harry was sure they'd left.

Harry carefully peeked around the corner and saw that they were indeed gone…now…what had he just overheard?

* * *

><p>"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed as soon as she opened the portrait, causing everyone in the common room to look either at her or at Harry. Harry hoped that the heat he could feel in his face wasn't visible. Hermione wrested her way into the common room, but she nearly tripped over her own robes in her haste and then her extremely heavy bookbag knocked her off-balance and she toppled over to a chair where she managed to finally right herself. Then she hustled over to where Harry was sitting.<p>

"Harry!" She said again, by way of announcing her intent to join him on the sofa which she did with enough force to make Harry bounce, "I was thinking about what you said to me in defense earlier—"

Harry remembered saying a lot of things in defense, as well as Hermione's threat to get him back for stabbing her in the arm.

"—what do you think Snape _was_ getting at?"

Now there was a loaded question.

Harry frowned and shrugged, and looked sideways at Hermione, wondering what _she_ was getting at.

"It's just," Hermione said, fumbling her hands about her things clumsily, "you said that you thought Snape had ulterior motives—"

"Because he always does," Harry agreed.

"Yes!" Hermione exclaimed and her hands went still, and she looked towards Harry with an interest previously reserved for thousand year old tomes. She was clearly back in control of the conversation again. "Well, you said that and I was thinking—"

A dangerous prospect.

"—why do you think he picked werewolves?"

She'd only asked Harry that question hours ago in class and he didn't have an answer then, so why would she possibly think that Harry had one now?

"I don't know," Harry replied, "but he does have one, and he wants us to figure it…"

Hermione looked triumphant and was beaming at Harry and she wheedled, "Yes, and how did he make sure that we would figure it out?"

Harry thought back to class, and couldn't identify any particular moment as being telling of anything besides Snape's general nastiness.

"Harry," Hermione said, her face losing a bit of its luster, "he told us we knew nothing of how to identify werewolves and then assigned a huge essay on _how to identify werewolves_."

Harry's eyes went wide and he turned to stare at Hermione who looked relieved that he'd understood and she didn't have to bear the burden of knowing there was a werewolf among them alone anymore…though she'd probably only known for 16 minutes. 15 minutes was her average travel time between the library and the common room when she was running.

Hermione had timed herself one day, and then informed Ron and Harry of her time because she thought that was pretty fast.

"But who—"

Hermione was fishing for something in her bag and didn't seem to have heard Harry's question as she was saying, "And that's not all, Harry, I found all sorts of things in the library! Things you wouldn't believe."

She finally found what she was looking for and straightened up, tucking a gold necklace that had fallen out back inside her shirt sheepishly, "Look at this!"

She held an open book towards Harry, and it was upside-down but Harry could make out the chapter heading: _Overview of Protective Regulations Aimed at Preventing the Spread of Lycanthropy._ Hermione turned the book around and scooted closer to Harry saying, "You have to read this, and I have a couple of other things you need to read as well."

"But Hermione," Harry reiterated, "who do you think it is, do you know?"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said softly and tilted her head over to the window, "I'm just surprised no one else has figured it out, I just don't know what to do now. These laws and the history books…they're…" She continued talking but the words kind of turned into an odd ringing noise in his ears.

In the window the full moon hung pale and ghostly in the early evening sky, and there was only one absence noticeable enough that Snape thought even a bunch of thick-headed thirteen-year-old Gryffindors couldn't miss…

Harry couldn't believe it.

"And," Hermione bit her lip and looked around a bit furtively, before continuing, "apparently they also sided with You-Know-Who before, and since then they've made the laws so much stricter to protect people. They're quite vicious—"

Hermione dug out another book and plopped that one on top of the other one, "They're actually not allowed to be employed most places, see here—and they certainly aren't allowed to _teach_. This is really quite serious, Harry, these books say that he shouldn't work here, he should be fired. That he's probably as dangerous as Quirrell!"

Harry stared at the book and tried to reconcile this information with all he knew of Professor Lupin who didn't seem dangerous at all. He was quite kind and there was no way that Dumbledore would hire someone that had sided with…well, he had hired Quirrell and Snape, which wasn't really a stunning recommendation. Maybe this _was_ right, even if it didn't seem that way.

Hermione was still talking about how dangerous Lupin probably was, and Harry didn't really know what to think anymore. He slowly closed all the books Hermione had brought with her, and her voice faltered as she watched him do it, her face crumpled in confusion and worry, "What—Harry?"

Hermione was too good at worrying about things, of course Harry supposed he was too or neither of them would have taken it upon themselves to solve every mystery that came their way. Harry didn't want _this_ to be one of their adventures too, he liked Lupin too much, he wanted Lupin to come back and teach next year too.

"I don't think he's dangerous," Harry said firmly, "he's a good teacher, the best one we've ever had, and I don't think we should try and get him fired just because he got mauled by a beast. We don't know what he did during the war, and the only way we could find out is to ask…I think, that we should give him a chance to prove himself, remember how," the words got stuck in Harry's throat as he said this, but it was better than not saying them at all, "first year we thought Snape was the bad guy, but he wasn't."

Hermione looked troubled at the thought of possibly putting everyone in danger.

"No one's gotten hurt and it's been months," Harry reminded her, "and he saved everyone on the train."

"You're right," Hermione agreed finally, looking a bit defeated and still very much concerned, but calmed by Harry's attitude, "it's not our place to be judge, jury, and executioner. I just got really scared."

* * *

><p>That's it for this chapter!<p>

It was really kind of awkward writing Hermione and Harry being scared of Lupin, I'm sure that came across too XD


	14. Nightmares

**Many, many thanks to everyone that reviewed last chapter! I loved hearing from all of you!**

So this is actually the longest chapter I've written so far, and it may end up being the longest in the whole fic...I just couldn't find anyway to divide it up, nor did I really want to...

**Chapter Fourteen: Nightmares**

Squinting through the heavy rain, Harry decided that the black shadow was indeed the same black dog and chewed on his chilled, wet bottom lip anxiously. That didn't last long though, as a yell alerted him to a bludger flying his way, he quickly swerved out of the way of the ball and after checking to make sure he was safe he once more checked back to where he'd seen the dog—it was gone.

This was turning out to be rather like a scary movie, and Harry had the chill running down his spine to prove it…though that was probably just from the cold rain, a shiver wracked Harry's body and he decided it would be best to focus on the game. Surely, he'd warm up if he just forgot about the cold…but the cold didn't seem to go away, it sank deep into his bones and he shuddered uncontrollably, to the point where it became difficult to hold onto his broom.

He could hear yelling, he was sure, everyone was yelling about something, but there was a woman screaming above all that, something terrifying was happening—there was a woman screaming, her voice was so familiar and she kept calling his name.

No, Harry realized with horror, she was begging and pleading for Harry's life to be saved, over and over _and over_. It was all he could hear, screams rang constantly through the cold cloud in Harry's head, the terrified woman constantly screaming, "_No, not Harry, please not Harry!_"

It was mentally exhausting and he felt like he'd never escape whatever terrible limbo he'd ended up in. Red, orange, blue, and white were moving around him like water, slowly creeping closer and closer as the woman screamed, "_No, please no! Harry! No!" _ The woman continued shrieking,_ "Bad baby!_" After that Harry wondered for a crazy moment if he'd gone deaf as the screaming stopped, but then he heard a few muttered spells followed by,_ "_You're such a _bad_ baby!"

There were a few more muffled sounding spells and the sea of colors disappeared around him, leaving the room dull and cold. After a few moments, Harry could see a red-ish, blue mass rush over to him, and he could hear himself cooing and giggling. Then he was lifted and the world spun for a moment, and all that was left was a red mass surrounding him, as if he were inside a red balloon. He was once again warm and felt safe, and that contented him more than anything. This was much better than the orange-red that had surrounded him seconds before.

"You have got to control your temper, Harry," the woman chided in a high-pitched coo. It came from very close, and Harry reached for the source of the noise and found a finger, he pulled it into his mouth and gurgled happily.

"Again?" a deep and amused man's voice asked from somewhere behind the two of them.

The woman laughed and said with her voice still full of laughter, "He'll grow out of it, I'm sure, but until then we'll just have to fireproof the whole house."

"Gives new meaning to baby-proofing, I suppose," the man said without any inflection in his voice and Harry felt his world spin once more, and he found himself out of the red mass.

"I'll get this mess cleaned up," the woman said from farther away, "if you get him new clothes."

"I'm amazed he didn't burn himself," the man's voice said, and Harry realized, with a jolt strong enough to wake him up that it was Snape. The dream remained strong in his mind even though everything was blurry; as if he hadn't been wearing glasses…it probably didn't help that he couldn't see in the dark of wherever he was.

Which begged the question: where exactly _was_ he?

Harry groped around him until he found a table, and after patting around on the top of that he managed to find his wand, but not his glasses. He tried the other side of the bed and had much better luck then, he pushed his glasses onto his face and the world came into focus. The hospital wing, Harry realized.

He rubbed his face, under his glasses and tried to forget the strange dream with all of its odd swirling colors and, Harry grimaced, Snape. His mind felt as if he'd spun around in circles and couldn't think because of it, and if that's what happened it would explain why he felt like throwing up now. But Harry doubted that was why he was in the hospital wing now; spinning around in circles no matter how vigorously done wouldn't land anyone in the infirmary.

An odd feeling gripped Harry, he didn't know why he was here and there was no one around to ask. Even the usual line of light from under the door to Madam Pomfrey's office was absent, it was kind of creepy and after the equally creepy dreams he'd been having, well… Harry would really just like to leave right now, thank you muchly.

He pulled the covers off and turned to sit on the edge of the bed, listening to see if there was actually _someone_ around that could explain things.

Frowning after a moment of eerie silence, in which Harry could swear he heard a rat squeaking a bit, he decided to get out of the hospital wing.

He pushed himself to his feet, and shuddered when his bare feet hit the cold stone of the floor—winter already seemed to be seeping into the stone of the castle. Paying it no mind after a second, Harry quickly slipped over to the door to the hallway and peeked out—no one there either.

Harry began walking down the hallway; it wasn't that he was scared of being alone because he often was. Especially at the Dursleys when they would lock him up to keep him from sight or to make him feel like a freak or whatever sick pleasure they got from it, Harry really couldn't bring himself to care enough to figure out what was wrong with them because it was pretty much everything as far as he could tell.

But that left Harry to wonder why he didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts right now, he already knew, in theory that Snape probably would have had to have been around at some point before his paren — wait, could Harry even call both the Potters that now? Besides, it was all most likely that Harry's dreams were just that—hadn't it been proven that you couldn't remember _anything_ before you were three years old? That your brain hadn't been switched on right before that? And if your brain wasn't even switched on then not even _magic_ could make you remember, right?

Right.

Harry's feet felt heavy and freezing cold, like they were completely made of ice, and it was then that Harry realized that he didn't even have his wand. Maybe he should go back for it, maybe someone would be in the hospital wing now, surely.

Harry turned around, intending to do just that, when he suddenly realized that he was in the hallway that housed Professor Lupin's office.

Biting his lip, Harry couldn't help but recall that Lupin said Harry could talk to him about anything.

Harry sidled up to Lupin's office door and nearly knocked, even though it was in the middle of the night before he realized that the full moon had been recently-ish, right? He hadn't been paying attention last astronomy class and he couldn't remember…so what if it was tonight, even though Professor Lupin hadn't been in class Friday…so did that make the full moon Friday or Thursday? What about the nights when the moon was kind-of-mostly-full, did those count as full moons according to Lycanthropy?

This was way too complicated and his arm was starting to hurt from holding his fist up as he debated knocking on the door.

He should find a window, then he could check and see what phase the moon was, and then he could knock if it was safe. Yes, that sounded good.

Harry turned to walk away and find a window when another thought occurred to him, hadn't Lupin been at the quidditch game? If so then that meant he would be okay now, right? But Harry couldn't really seem to recall either way.

All this thinking was really beginning to make his head spin, and he decided to sit down…you know, just until he figured out whether or not Lupin would be able to talk to him…

…Yeah…

…That seemed like…the best idea…

* * *

><p>Harry became aware of the sound of a clock ticking, and then not long after the sound of a quill scratching across parchment. Then the sound of a fire crackling nearby and he could feel the uneven heat of it on his face and see the brightness of it behind his eyelids.<p>

The blankets on him felt unusually heavy, and they smelled oddly of something wet and musky. It reminded him, oddly; of the cabin Uncle Vernon had taken them to after Harry had started receiving Hogwarts letters.

Harry's eyes flew open and he jerked wildly trying to sit up and figure out _where_ he was, because it was certainly no where he could remember being in Hogwarts.

"Are you all right?" Professor Lupin asked, his voice scratchy and hoarse, "Did you have a nightmare?"

Harry looked around and he could really only make out the fire, which was blurry and appeared to be a glowing, waving mass like…like he'd been surrounded by in his dream earlier. Could it be that he'd set fire to something in his dream…? Harry also couldn't help but wonder why Professor Lupin was here, wherever here was.

Harry recalled the accusations Hermione had made earlier and immediately brushed them off, he really didn't think Professor Lupin was like the werewolves she'd been reading about…_if_ he even was a werewolf.

"Your glasses are on the floor," Lupin added, "are you all right, Harry?"

Harry bent over to run his hand against the floor and managed to locate his glasses, he pulled them on and saw that he was just in Professor Lupin's office…and he was laying on the chair he'd sat in when they'd had tea…though the chair was now more couch-sized. Harry wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to feel about waking up in the man's office, he did feel very odd and rather uncomfortable about it…he couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been here and why.

"Harry…" Professor Lupin said again, and Harry looked over at him. He appeared to be marking papers using the light of the fire to see, the fire was also casting heavy shadows across his extremely pale face. Lupin looked incredibly ill, and Harry decided that there was no chance that he'd been to the game earlier.

Harry blinked and looked around the dark room in confusion for a few more moments, before deciding that he couldn't see any reason to feel particularly afraid or alarmed by being in Lupin's office. Besides, he _had_ been here before at least, and not for a detention, and he _had_ been outside debating about talking to the man. It wouldn't be like if he'd woken up on Professor Sinistra's couch while she graded papers…or Trelawney, Harry shuddered at the questions she'd ask.

Professor Lupin seemed to be growing concerned and was looking toward the fire as if he thought it would somehow help the situation.

"I thought," Harry said slowly, trying to break the silence, and respond to the professor's questions so that he wouldn't look so frightened, "that you might be…" Harry's eyes went to the window as he tried to figure out which word would be best to use here, "indisposed."

Professor Lupin's eyes also went to the window; brows furrowed a bit in confusion, and then quickly went smooth again. He turned his attention back to Harry, his lips turned up a bit at the corners and he replied, "Not tonight."

"Yesterday?" Harry asked, and immediately regretted it. He flinched a bit and pressed back against the couch-chair hoping that Lupin wouldn't be offended.

Instead he corrected, "Thursday and Friday."

"I didn't pay attention in Astronomy," Harry said as an excuse, and then faltered a bit as he realized he shouldn't be saying that to a teacher.

"I didn't either," Lupin said with a smile, "of course, I didn't really have to."

Harry supposed that made sense, and then said, "Sorry, for bothering you."

"I wasn't overly bothered," Lupin replied, and Harry got the odd feeling that the professor was leaving something off by wording it that way, but he couldn't tell what it would be. "You, though, seemed to be the one being bothered by something—why did you leave the hospital wing? Was it because you were having nightmares?"

Harry wondered why Lupin seemed so convinced that Harry had been having nightmares, this was the third time he'd asked…must have been all the thrashing about Harry had done when he'd woken up.

"I wasn't having nightmares," Harry replied, "I left the hospital wing because there was no one there and I didn't know why I was there to begin with—I mean, I feel fine."

"Is that why you were unconscious and freezing out in the hallway?" Lupin asked wryly.

"Er—yes?"

"I'd thought as much," Lupin said with a light chuckle, which sounded like an odd cough and made the man's whole body shudder from the strain. "But you really gave everyone a scare when Madam Pomfrey went to go check on you."

"She wasn't there when I left," Harry replied.

"I'd be most impressed if that was the case," Lupin replied, and Harry decided he needed to stop talking because he clearly wasn't being very intelligent right now.

"But—I don't even—why was I there to begin with?" Harry demanded, sitting up and pulling his blanketed knees to chest, "I can only remember part of the quidditch game."

"That's because you blacked out during the game," Lupin replied, marking a couple of things on the parchment in front of him, "the dementors felt that they had good reason to come to the pitch during the game—"

"That's why I had such odd dreams," Harry muttered and Lupin's head jerked a bit as if he had cat ears that twitched upon hearing anything.

"But that led to you passing out and falling from your broom," Lupin continued, "you were very injured, and you're only mostly recovered."

"Wait, but," Harry said slowly, "does that mean we lost or did we have to forfeit?"

Professor Lupin stared at Harry, incredulous, for long moments—long enough for Harry to decide that must not be an appropriate thing to ask after nearly dying—before replying, "Cedric Diggory did catch the snitch, but it's under debate as to whether it will be counted as a victory or not. The external influences have cast some doubt on the matter."

Harry wasn't sure if "external influences" was an accurate way to describe a dementor attack, but supposed that Lupin would be considered an expert on the matter.

"But Harry," Lupin said sternly, "I'm most concerned about what could make you leave the hospital wing in the middle of the night; I was informed that it was very unusual behavior for you to leave the infirmary without permission."

Harry wondered how Lupin had managed to talk to someone about him leaving the infirmary, and that conversation hadn't ended with Harry returning to the hospital wing. It seemed like that would make the most sense in this situation—not that Harry _wanted_ to go back there, but it just seemed off.

"I had…some disturbing dreams," Harry explained, "I think they're from the dementors, I had a lot of odd dreams after they came on the train."

"Nightmares?" Lupin asked, and then said pensively, "You said on the train you heard screaming?"

"I heard-hear," Harry stumbled over the words, "my mother screaming as she was being murdered," Harry swallowed slowly, "but that's not what I'm dreaming about! They aren't the same and they're not nightmares but they're still…disturbing to me."

"They are still nightmares, though?" Professor Lupin asked, and Harry could see a sort of hardness in his face that seemed to imply there was no way Harry could convince him that the dreams weren't nightmares. That was odd, to say the least and it was quickly becoming a bit annoying.

"No," Harry reiterated, "they just bother me…"

"Then why," Lupin said, pointing the feather-end of his quill at the floor and then slowly traced a path in front of the couch over to a singed potted plant that Harry doubted was just a burnt Peace Lily. Harry then noticed that the stone floor around the couch was blackened as if it had been on fire, and it was also wet…and Harry knew now why Lupin was so convinced he was having nightmares.

"They aren't nightmares," Harry repeated firmly, "They just bother me a lot."

"Enough to set our subject for next week's class on fire?"

Yeah, that potted plant was definitely not a Peace Lily.

"Who said that was an accident?" Harry retorted smartly and the professor chuckled.

They lapsed into silence after that, and Harry nervously wrapped his arms around his legs when Professor Lupin asked, "Do you set fires in your dormitory when you have disturbing dreams?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed in shock, "This is the first time I've ever done anything like this!"

Professor Lupin raised an eyebrow as if suggesting Harry stop lying because he knew the truth.

"It's true!" Harry insisted, "This is the first time this has ever happened."

"You do know that you used to set fires whenever you were upset as an infant don't you?" Lupin asked. Then he blinked and seemed like he just remembered that he was even holding a quill, he marked something hastily on the parchment before him and then set the quill down on the blotter. He turned his full attention to Harry, his eyes gleaming eerily from out of his pale, sickly face...they glowed almost like a pair of little yellow suns...

Harry shook his head quickly, dashing those thoughts from his mind, and instead recalled another dream, the one he'd had in the infirmary, all the swirling reds and oranges and the heat. He'd clearly set fire to something then and if it was real…if he was dreaming about his mum, then that would mean what Lupin was saying was true, but then…_how could he know that_?

"My dream tonight," Harry said ducking his head so he didn't have to look at Lupin, trying to figure him out like he was a particularly complex puzzle, "was about something like that."

"About what exactly?"

"I think I'm dreaming about my mum," Harry replied, "but I don't know for sure, all I see is red, all around me…I can't see anything in the dreams," Harry explained and straightened his glasses, "but I can make out some odd things—"

"Like the red?" Remus asked.

"It's a woman," Harry added, "there's a voice that comes from it, and it's a woman's voice—it must be my mum," then he added simply, "she had red hair."

"She did," Remus agreed, blandly, "and it was very long when you were a baby and it would always fall over your face she held you."

Harry's brow furrowed, and again, he couldn't help but wonder why Lupin knew these things. _How_ Lupin knew these things.

"And then," Harry added, "there's a dog."

"A dog," Lupin replied, in almost the same tone, but there was an edge to it, and Harry looked up at the man. His face was held cautiously calm, as if he was trying not to reveal something.

"A big black one," Harry finished, "Professor Trelawney said earlier this year that she saw me with the grim—I've been seeing and dreaming about them since summer."

Lupin studiously maintained the same facial expression and Harry couldn't help but wonder why he cared so much about the black dog. Even Ron said it was odd that he'd seen and dreamed about the black dog; maybe…maybe this was something Harry needed to look into and figure out.

"Did you dream about the dog tonight?" Lupin asked with that same edge in his voice. Kind of strong and forceful, as if he were doing the human equivalent of a growled bark…yes, Harry would definitely have to figure out what the deal with this dog was.

"No," Harry replied, "I dreamed about setting fire to my room…I think…it's hard to tell when you can't see, you know."

Professor Lupin bravely mustered up a smile, but it was obvious he wanted to do anything but, and asked, "Anything else?"

"Well," Harry replied, "Then I think my mum came in and put the fire out and held me until…"

Harry swallowed and then asked, ducking his head down so close to his legs that he worried Lupin wouldn't hear him, except he was a werewolf so he probably could no matter what, "You said I could talk to you about anything, right?"

"Yes, of course," Lupin replied, quickly and firmly, "anything at all."

"I," Harry's throat went dry and he had to swallow several times before he thought he'd be able to get the words out, and they did come out but in an odd croaking voice, "my father wasn't there, but…" Harry had to force the words out, and when he said them it was surreal to hear them said out loud...it was almost as if someone else said them for him.

Lupin said nothing for a long while and it made Harry wonder if he'd actually said anything at all, he didn't want to repeat it so he hoped that everything went right the first time.

"Yes," Lupin replied after a long while and then he dropped his head to stare down at the papers on his desk, "he would have been there."

Harry's head jerked up and he stared at Lupin for a long while. Their roles had somehow become reversed as Harry studied him for any reaction and Lupin carefully avoided making any eye contact with Harry.

"I knew…your parents…James, Lily, and Severus," Lupin explained finally, and Harry didn't know what to make of having the three of them referred to collectively as _his_ parents. He also wasn't sure he liked having Snape called by his first name; it was awkward, like whenever someone called Dumbledore "Albus."

"So you knew that Snape was my father then?" Harry demanded, wondering what he would do if that was the case. Probably set the whole castle on fire, or at least Lupin—burn him to a crisp. Harry shuddered as he randomly remembered Quirrell screaming that Harry was burning him and forced himself not to think about that and he couldn't really figure out why that had triggered the memory in the first place.

"No one did actually," Remus replied, "and yes, that's true, don't look at me like that. Your mother and Professor Snape were always friends, if you can believe that—"

"No, I really can't," Harry exclaimed, slamming his hand against the worn couch, "I can scarcely believe any of this!"

Professor Lupin, bewilderingly, drew his wand and flicked it, sending a spray of water across the room…to douse the flame which had begun to eat away at an old tapestry on the wall. Harry flushed and returned to staring at his blanketed knees.

Harry realized he'd just used the word "scarcely," which was rather a Hermione thing to say, really.

"I'm just confused," Harry said finally.

"I think," Professor Lupin said slowly, and Harry glanced over at him and saw him staring at a wall, thoughtfully, rather than staring at Harry trying to dissect him like some sort of dark creature, "that's rather normal."

Harry started at that and felt his heart pound in his chest twice before settling down a bit. Now, there was something Harry couldn't ever say he'd been before.

"You've just had your entire world turned upside down, and if I'm right, I'm guessing I'm the first person you've confided in," Lupin continued without waiting for a response, and without looking away from the wall to see if he was right, "that's a lot for a thirteen year old to hold in, and on top of that your magic's gone a bit haywire which makes it even more difficult."

Harry blinked and rested his head against his knees, pulling the blanket up over his arms as he stared at Lupin appraisingly.

"I'm also relieved that you've spoken to me about all this, and you know that I have a damaging secret as well, so I can certainly relate to wanting to keep quiet about it. But that shouldn't mean that you're left completely unable to confide in anyone," Professor Lupin added, "It's not an easy way to live."

"The way I figure it," Harry replied slowly and thoughtfully, "neither of us can help who we are."

"That's where you're wrong Harry," Professor Lupin replied, finally turning away from the wall to look at Harry with a smile, "you have every bit of control over who you are, your identity is not tied to who your parents are. You've made it twelve years without them after all."

Harry hadn't really thought of it that way before…to him his parents had always seemed like ever-present shadows, supporting and loving him from afar. He often thought of them, even if it was mostly wishing that they were there to keep him from the Dursleys…

"But I suppose what I'm trying to say here is that I think you're entitled to burn a few things if you want to," Professor Lupin finished with a smile. "Just _try_ to avoid hurting people."

* * *

><p>I hope you guys like this chapter! There was a lot of conversation and not much else, so I'm not sure XD<p> 


	15. Wouldn't be Sporting

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed in my lengthy absence!**

Well...I'm not sure if this is up to the quality of all the previous chapters, and I did go back and change things numerous times...this part was incredibly difficult to write for some reason and it may come across as really difficult...I feel like things do pick up after this part, and I'm in the process of reading through and editing everything that follows...which looks like it'll be between six and eight chapters.

I've also made an effort to reign in the commas...but I can never seem to catch all of them no matter how many times I re-read.

I also haven't dropped my habit of writing things that happen over the summer and in fourth year...I've also started writing things that "never" happened, so we're going to have some outtake chapters in the future.

Anyways, on with the chapter!

_I do not own Harry Potter or anything having to with it, I make zero money from writing this!_

**Chapter Fifteen: Wouldn't be Sporting**

The flames which were surrounding Harry turned bright green and exploded outwards—spinning toward him violently and Harry fell backwards, flailing desperately as he tried to keep out of range. It was extremely difficult for Harry move, though, and he thrashed harder to try to escape, until he realized that he was fighting heavy blankets and the green flames were simply the activated floo.

"Ah, Madam Pomfrey, right on time."

That was Professor Lupin's voice, but Harry couldn't see who he was talking to, nor could Harry find his glasses...until someone placed them on his face, nearly poking him in the eye with one of the earpieces in the process. Harry quickly straightened them and turned to look at the fireplace, Madam Pomfrey's head was bobbing among the harmless green flames.

Well, that was something…

Harry hadn't realized you could use the floo as a weird telephone.

"Harry became lucid and had a lengthy conversation with me around 3am," Professor Lupin reported as he settled so that he was leaning against his desk. He crossed his arms and focused all of his attention on the head in the fireplace, "He's been asleep since."

Madam Pomfrey's flaming disembodied head hummed thoughtfully, and Harry continued to stare at the fireplace in complete shock, "That's a bit more advanced than I was expecting from him…I'll come through and give him a look-over, he really shouldn't be ready for a full discharge though."

Then Madam Pomfrey's arm appeared in the fireplace, followed by another arm, and she used her disembodied arms to hoist herself up so she could crawl through the fireplace, bit by bit—like some sort of weird, magical ash-beast—until she walked out of the fireplace and right up to Harry.

Creepy.

Pomfrey didn't waste any time after that and immediately began examining Harry.

"You said he talked to you, lucidly?" Pomfrey distractedly asked Lupin, and Harry felt like reminding him he was right there in front of them.

"He did." Professor Lupin agreed and then turned his attention to Harry, kindly asking, "Harry do you recall our conversation in the middle of the night, or have you forgotten?"

Honestly, it wasn't likely that Harry would ever forget.

Harry instead said, "I remember it."

"It appears that your head injury has healed, then," Pomfrey announced, pleased, "I may be able to discharge you ahead of schedule."

Harry wanted to point out that this was not the hospital wing.

"Is he fit for travel then?" Lupin asked.

"Yes," Pomfrey replied, "not by floo, of course, but he should be stable enough to go back to the hospital wing through the castle now."

Harry blinked and looked between the two of them confused.

Professor Lupin seemed to pick up on this before Pomfrey did and explained, "You were too ill for us to move last night, that's why you had to stay in my office."

That made sense, but honestly Harry would rather stay on Lupin's couch/chair because it turned out that travelling through the castle meant being hovered through the hallways while lying flat on his back. Harry hadn't really noticed until that moment just how twisty the hallways were and how far away the hospital wing was from everything else in the school.

It made him extremely motion-sick.

He would not throw up though, because Madam Pomfrey would think he'd gotten ill because of the fall. So he ended up laying on the gurney, clinging to the sides of it, head spinning and stomach churning violently while he clenched his eyes shut. On the plus side, it gave him something to concentrate on so he couldn't really hear everything people were saying about him as he floated past

He would never escape from the hospital wing again.

Never.

Again.

With no small amount of relief they finally arrived, and Harry delicately shifted himself from the gurney onto the bed. Madam Pomfrey helped him under the covers and tucked him in and Harry fought down the urge to groan as the room spun and spun and spun.

Maybe he should just throw up. That would help him feel better, and even if he had to stay here a day longer it might be worth it at this point. Harry closed his eyes and tried to think of anything else, but the only thing he really had to think about was the conversation he'd had with Lupin and that didn't do anything to make him feel better.

Yep, Harry was definitely going to throw up.

"Harry?" He Hermione's voice whisper from close by, "Are you awake?"

"Yes," Harry murmured between his clenched teeth, "I am."

"Oh, well, it's me and Ron," she replied, but she didn't sound overly pleased to be there or maybe Harry was just projecting how he felt about their poor timing onto her voice. Harry also wondered why she thought that he would have problems telling that it was her in the hospital wing right now talking to him.

Though, he was supposed to be suffering from a catastrophic head injury right now. Maybe she was just trying to differentiate herself from the hallucinations?

"Hullo," Harry greeted weakly.

Harry heard Hermione whispering, low enough that she thought Harry couldn't hear, to Ron that they ought to go. Harry started to agree, but then he realized he wouldn't be sick for much longer and he'd be dreadfully bored when they left.

"No, stay," Harry grated out, "just…I need a second; I got sick on the way here."

"Yeah, heard you ran away," Ron chirruped brightly, "Fred and George were impressed, they've never gotten out of here without getting caught before. They're going to be up later to ask for pointers."

Harry's eyes were closed but he could pretty much hear Hermione rolling her eyes from wherever she was standing.

"There was a big upset," Hermione added, "You must've forgotten that Black is still on the loose when you decided to leave, right?"

Harry had, in fact, forgotten that there was a crazed serial killer after him, and that everyone would have been placed into a state of panic when Harry—nearly dead to begin with—went missing from the hospital wing.

"Come on Hermione," Harry chided, "give the guy a little credit, wouldn't be sporting to kill me when I'm down."

Ron guffawed loudly and then Harry heard him slap his hands over his mouth—he knew that was the case because Ron would have complained if Hermione had done the slapping.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, and Harry could tell she was trying not to laugh, "that's _so_ bad!"

Ron continued laughing, but the sound was muffled behind his hands, and Harry couldn't help but laugh a little himself.

"But it's okay, because when they were asked to look for you, Lupin had barely opened his office door and there you were," Hermione continued, "so the search was called off right after it started."

Harry's head had finally stopped spinning and he no longer felt like he was seconds away from vomiting so he opened his eyes and located Ron and Hermione on the bed next to him.

"I'm surprised Fred and George still want my advice on how to get out here—"

"Well, they figure they won't be nearly as rubbish at hiding as you," Ron explained, "I think you've got that market all covered, honestly, escaping to go and fall asleep in front of a professor's door!"

"I have a head injury!" Harry exclaimed in his defense, "I wasn't thinking straight!"

"Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, mate," Ron joked.

"What were you thinking though?" Hermione asked, "Why did you even think it would be a good idea to leave?"

"Well," Harry replied sheepishly, and he pushed himself up a bit so he was sitting, "I couldn't—_can't_ really remember anything from the game. I woke up, but Madam Pomfrey wasn't here and I didn't know what I was doing here…and I was upset from this dream I had because of the dementors and it just seemed like a good idea to leave."

Ron and Hermione seemed to have stopped listening to his explanation halfway through, and were staring at each other looking troubled—as if Harry had stopped speaking English and instead launched into gibberish without even noticing and they were now convinced he had brain damage.

Seconds passed by and they didn't explain what was going on, and Harry's neck grew tired of looking between the two of them so he asked, "What is it?"

"You can't remember anything from the game?" Ron asked with a deep frown and red splotchy spots on his forehead, presumably due to anxiety—caused by whatever they knew that Harry didn't. Harry was hard-pressed to come up with _anything_ worse that could happen during a game than getting attacked by dementors and losing. "Professor Lupin and Madam Pomfrey didn't tell you?"

"Lupin said we lost," Harry replied, figuring that's all it was, and they just thought Harry didn't know. Then maybe they could stop acting like someone had died.

But no relief spread across their faces, in fact, they seemed to be even more upset. Hermione shifted her feet around a little bit before saying, "Well, we've got a bit of bad news…"

"Something happened after the game," Ron added, and he bit his lip and rubbed his arm, "after you fell."

"What happened?" Harry asked. He was beginning to wonder if he'd fallen on top of someone and killed them, because honestly, what could be this serious?

"Your broom fell too," Hermione blurted out, and quickly covered up her mouth—as if surprised the words had even come out.

"Into the Whomping Willow," Ron finished sadly.

It was then that Harry noticed that Hermione's other had held a small bag, with a shudder he realized what was probably in it.

Sure enough, he was right.

"This is all that's left," Hermione finished weakly, and set the bag on his lap.

Harry bet Snape was pretty happy that he'd been proven right, that Harry probably should have set this game out—waited until next year when Black would, hopefully, have been caught before playing again.

Now Harry wouldn't be able to play quidditch at all.

"Serves me right, I guess," Harry muttered, "should have listened to everyone when they told me not to play."

Hermione frowned deeply, but she didn't say anything, and Ron looked like he wanted to protest, vehemently, but didn't. They sat in silence for a long while, and Harry, to distract himself from the bag containing the remains of his broom asked, "So exactly what happened during the rest of the game. All I know is that dementors came on the pitch."

"Yes," Hermione said quickly, she seemed happy to have something to talk about, "the headmaster managed to keep you from getting too much damage in the fall, and he used that same silvery stuff that Professor Lupin did on the train to get the dementors to leave school grounds again."

"Silvery stuff," Harry muttered, "it's like a spell?"

"Of some sort, yes," Hermione replied, nodding, "I'm not sure which one though, maybe we could ask Professor Lupin—I bet he could even teach you!"

"You could definitely use it," Ron said with an amused snort. Then he wiggled his eyebrows a bit before wryly adding, "The dementors seem to like you mate."

* * *

><p>Harry slowly made his way back up to Gryffindor tower, he had really hoped to slip in unnoticed—like during a meal or right before lights out. But it was the middle of the afternoon and it was dreadfully cold so no one was likely to be outside—the common room would be stuffed full and everyone there would have something to say about him, but not to him. Never to him.<p>

Growling in frustration, Harry kicked a nearby wall—sparks exploded when his sneakers met the wall and Harry jumped back, startled. His heart was pounding in his chest from the shock.

Well…it did serve to make him less upset about the poor timing of his discharge from the hospital wing.

Harry turned and dropped back until his back landed against the wall with a thump, he slowly tilted his head back—trying to think of something he could do until dinner started, so he could slip into the tower unnoticed.

Harry could go to the library, but he didn't have his book bag and he wasn't really one for fun reading…did the library even _have_ fun reading? Muggle libraries had all kinds of books, but Harry had never used the library here for anything but schoolwork—what was that series Ron liked? Something about a mad muggle? Didn't seem like something they would keep in the library here…

Harry pushed away from the wall and continued walking; when he realized he would pass by Professor Lupin's office…perhaps he could ask about that spell now? Seemed to be as good a time as any, really…Lupin was likely to be more recovered now than he had been two days ago.

And even if he couldn't really bring himself to ask Lupin straightaway, he could at least thank him for putting him up for the night…and it had the added benefit of keeping Harry out of the common room for a while longer.

Harry began walking a bit faster now that he had somewhere he wanted to be, and he quickly arrived at Lupin's office door. Harry knocked after short moment of hesitation, and Lupin appeared at the door not long after. As Harry had suspected, Lupin looked better today than he had two nights ago and Harry smiled at him, softly murmuring a greeting.

"Out of the hospital wing, I presume?" Lupin asked, returning Harry's smile.

"Yes," Harry agreed and then he realized that it was good he had a back-up plan because he really had no other way to bridge into a conversation about fighting dementors, "I wanted to thank you, you know, for putting me up."

"I did what anyone would have done," Professor Lupin replied, "I couldn't leave you in the hallway to die."

"I wanted," Harry said slowly, maybe he'd just have to blurt it out, because he honestly couldn't think of a better way to organize this conversation, "I wanted to ask you about something."

"Come inside then," Professor Lupin said, and his smile wavered for just a second so his weariness showed though and Harry felt bad about imposing on the man. He was probably still a bit ill and exhausted from the full moon; no matter how well he looked. "I'll get some tea," Lupin announced as he retreated into his office.

"I can come back later," Harry offered, wavering at the door, "if now's a bad time."

"Now is the perfect time," Lupin replied sincerely, "say everything while it's still fresh." Lupin retreated behind his desk and settled heavily down in his creaky chair. The professor tinkered with something for a few moments before glancing over his shoulder "…well, are you going to tell me everything from the doorway?"

Harry jerked forward as if he were a puppet and Lupin's words were spells that jerked his strings, and entered the office while softly closing the door behind him. Lupin busied himself making tea.

So Harry took a little time to look around the office; all traces of his presence had been erased: scorch marks removed from the floor and the chair had been returned to its usual size. Though, Harry did notice that Lupin hadn't yet had time to replace the potted plant that he'd burnt to a crisp.

Harry deposited himself onto the chair and waited for Lupin to finish the tea.

"Ah, yes, perfect," Lupin declared of the tea with a smile, and he slid Harry a cup. He then focused his full attention on Harry—it eerily reminded Harry of conversing with Dumbledore, but he didn't really feel that Lupin could see into his soul in quite the same way. Harry squirmed a bit in discomfort, and after what seemed to be ages, Lupin asked, "now, what did you want to talk about?"

"Well," Harry said slowly, and he suddenly remembered the tea. He immediately learned forward and took hold of the cup that Lupin had prepared for him, "I asked Ron and Hermione about what happened during the game…and she told me that Dumbledore got the dementors to leave the pitch," Harry explained, and he noticed that with his words, Lupin seemed to straighten a bit until he looked very uncomfortable.

Feeling unsure Harry slowly finished, his voice trailing off a bit, and his eyes drifted down to his lap "…that he used some sort of spell…"

"He did," Lupin agreed simply and firmly.

"She said that it was a spell that made some kind of silvery cloud, and said that it was the same spell that you used to get rid of them back on the train."

"It is."

Harry then looked up at Professor Lupin and noticed that he seemed braced for something; as if he knew exactly where Harry was going with this conversation, and that it was going to end with Harry punching him in the face and Lupin was trying to figure out how much it was going to hurt when the final blow finally hit.

"What spell is it?"

"It's called a patronus," Lupin replied, he remained still and tense, waiting for something.

"Can anyone do it?"

"Most people can," Professor Lupin shifted and glanced over to the fireplace for a moment. He sighed deeply and then quickly rattled off the answers to all of Harry's future questions as if he'd had this conversation before and had the whole thing memorized, "And yes, you probably can do it as well, and use it to defend yourself from the dementors, and yes, I could teach you, but I'm not sure that I would make the best teacher—"

He held up his hand to halt Harry's interjection before Harry had even decided he _was_ going to interrupt, "and yes, I know that if I say no that means you'll probably go into the restricted section—"

"Restricted section?" Harry echoed incredulously.

"—to try to find out how to do it with your friends' help." But Lupin wasn't finished yet, and he sighed once more before continuing, this time slower, "Harry, honestly, I'm worried that with Severus' well-timed assignment—"

Harry grimaced at Lupin's use of Snape's given name.

"—even with all the excitement that followed, that other students have discovered my affliction as well, and that means I may not be teaching here next week. I wouldn't be able to properly teach you if I'm not here."

"What if that doesn't happen?" Harry asked, "What if you are still here next week?"

"I'll reconsider your request," Lupin replied with an exhausted sigh, "now, shouldn't you be off enjoying your reclaimed freedom?"

* * *

><p>That's it for this time, I hope you guys liked it! :O<p> 


	16. Like Breakfast

I didn't mean to wait this long before updating, but I decided I didn't like the way the story was flowing...only to find out that was the only way it _could_ flow so here we are XD I did find a couple of things I could interupt/re-write, but luckily for you guys this chapter and the next are a matching set.

I hope you guys enjoy this, even though it probably feels like a thought that's been interrupted and I should probably put the first bit with the last chapter but it's too late now!

_I still own nothing_!

**Chapter Sixteen: Like Breakfast**

As predicted, all conversation stopped when Harry opened the portrait to the common room, and he found everyone staring at him. Harry pursed his lips, and decided that it would be best for him to head straight up to his dormitory—he didn't want to sit down here and listen to everyone talk about him.

"Wait," Hermione exclaimed, and Harry paused—he hadn't even realized that she was down here and Harry looked to see who she was with. Sure enough, Ron was sitting next to her and he'd missed them both. Hermione was digging through her bag looking for something and Harry walked over to where they were sitting to see what she had that was so important. Finally, she located it and with a huge smile she held out a rolled up magazine to Harry, "I thought you might want this."

Harry took it from her and allowed it to flop open in his hands.

It was a broomstick catalog.

She'd gotten him a broomstick catalog—it was a very Hermione way of saying 'You should keep playing quidditch no matter what anyone says, and also maybe it wouldn't kill you to read a bit more.'

Harry stared at it in surprise and then slowly raised his head to smile at her.

"It's the best I can do," She murmured apologetically, as she picked at the cuff of her robe.

"It's enough," Harry assured her.

Then Harry realized that conversation in the common room had not picked back up, so everyone had just seen their sappy moment—and that was going to make the soul mate rumors pick back up again with a vengeance. Harry looked to Ron to see if this was probably the case and Ron nodded solemnly.

Harry's face was so hot, that he vaguely wondering if he'd caught it on fire, so he quickly excused himself and dashed over to the boy's staircase. As soon as he was out of eyeshot the common room exploded into noise.

Harry groaned and collapsed against the wall of the staircase.

* * *

><p>The classroom door <em>finally<em> opened and Harry swung his head over to watch as the students quickly poured out of the potions room. Harry pushed himself to his feet and brushed himself off and something made him freeze in his actions. Harry glanced up and resisted the urge to look away almost immediately. He'd, of course, felt Malfoy glaring fiercely at him, even though the fabric of his robes looked a bit off and was shiny in some places, dull in others.

Malfoy should really just be happy that he still _had_ robes.

Harry still felt a bit odd and he couldn't figure out why…but it was more important to continue spiting Malfoy at this point so he tilted his head in response to Malfoy's glare which only became harsher. Then the Slytherin turned heel and went to catch up with his classmates. Ron and Hermione finally exited and with no small amount of relief, Harry rushed over to them.

"Well…?" Harry said to them, closely watching his friends' faces for any clue of what had passed while he'd been kicked out of the classroom.

"He didn't say anything," Ron said with a shrug, "I guess you're okay?"

Hermione didn't say anything, but she also didn't look like she thought Harry deserved detention. Harry supposed that Malfoy had been getting on her very last nerve as well; with his animated impressions of Harry's near death and his over-dramatic one-man-act of Harry and Hermione's "declaration of true love" that as expected had spread across the school like wildfire—a fitting description if there ever was, Harry thought with a soft laugh.

But this whole thing begged the question of how Snape could stand to pander to Malfoy! Harry just couldn't understand how it could provide the man with any sense of satisfaction! If Harry got on Snape's nerves so much, then it would stand to reason that Malfoy got on his nerves as well, right?

Right.

Hermione's voice was soft when she finally said, "You should probably try to control your temper a little better."

"I know," Harry agreed, but he didn't really feel sorry. He supposed he should, considering the damage he could do now. He could have really hurt Malfoy…like _really_ hurt, and Harry was probably lucky that he hadn't. Malfoy may be a little spoiled brat, like Dudley, but Malfoy had a dangerous father, more dangerous than Uncle Vernon could ever be…

"What are you just standing there for, mate?" Ron demanded, lightly punching Harry's shoulder. "Do you _want_ to wait for Snape to come out here?"

Good point. Harry shook his head and the three of them took off quickly down the hallway.

* * *

><p>Hermione's quill paused in its scratching once more, and Hermione glanced over at Harry again. Her eyes were narrowed in concern and Harry slid his hands under his glasses to rub at his eyes. It was really difficult to concentrate for some reason, and he felt very strange. Almost as if he'd forgotten something, something really important—like breakfast.<p>

Perhaps he was just hungry…Ron certainly had a habit of getting very odd and morose when hungry. It would stand to reason that Harry should do the same, even if he couldn't ever recall it happening…maybe being at Hogwarts had spoiled him?

When Harry finished rubbing his eyes and resettled his glasses, he found Hermione intently staring at him, her quill resting on parchment. Harry hazarded a glance at Ron and found him sound asleep over his divinations text. No help from him, it seemed.

"You don't seem well," Hermione said finally, "Do you feel sick?"

"I'm fine," Harry replied, "I'm probably just hungry, lunch was a long time ago."

Hermione didn't look satisfied, but she did start to pick up her quill, then she paused and looked back at Harry. Her lips slowly twisted into an even more concerned look, and it made Harry nervous. Had he gone pale or turned a bit green? What was going on?

"Hermione," Harry said slowly, "wha—?"

"I suppose you expected your antics in class to go unpunished?" Snape's voice said from behind him, and Harry nearly felt out his chair from the shock. Heat churned almost painfully through his stomach, and Harry's mouth went dry. Hermione gulped almost audibly, and Harry felt like reminding her that she wasn't even the one in trouble.

"Be terribly remiss of you, sir," Harry replied, and was pleased that his voice didn't crack from his anxiety.

Snape was silent for a moment before replying, "Indeed."

Harry continued to look at Hermione, who seemed frozen as if Snape were a basilisk and she'd been petrified…again.

This went on long enough for Harry to become extremely uncomfortable so he asked, "Detention?"

"I should say so," Snape agreed.

"With Filch?"

"I don't think Mr. Filch would be able to provide the correction needed for this situation, Potter," Snape replied smoothly, "You'll report to my office immediately following dinner."

Harry fought down a groan, but was almost hoping that this would be a _normal_ detention. Surely Snape couldn't continue being weird about...well, _everything_ forever.

"Yes, sir," Harry sighed, and Hermione became un-petrified and lifted from her seat a little—clearly to follow Snape's exit before she spoke again.

"He didn't take points," Hermione commented.

"He must be going soft in his old age," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "He'll probably take plenty during detention—he always does."

"Except recently," Hermione murmured, and her renewed suspicions of Harry's detentions made Harry a bit fidgety, "What are you even doing in detentions?"

During the long string of paternity tests, she'd been really bothersome with her questions about his detentions. Harry hoped that she wouldn't start up with that again, things were already difficult to explain.

"The usual," Harry replied in an easy tone. In fact, to his own ears he sounded completely unconcerned and he couldn't help but be surprised by how easily these lies were coming out of his mouth. "Scrubbing cauldrons, preparing all the really nasty ingredients for classes…anything unpleasant Snape can come up with."

In fact, it almost seemed as though someone else was controlling his mouth. He felt really guilty in that moment and hoped that it wouldn't show up on his face and ruin the expert lies he'd just told…On the other hand, Harry knew the only way to stop the lies would be to tell the truth, and just thinking of telling another person the truth…it…

"You're going white," Hermione said in sudden concern, jumping up out of her chair to push her hand against Harry's forehead, "Are you _sure_ you're all right?"

Well, that's what thinking of telling the truth did to Harry.

* * *

><p>Harry didn't feel much better by the time dinner rolled around, and he kept thinking back to what happened in potions class. Remembering setting fire to Malfoy's robes made Harry feel a bit sick to his stomach, and Harry couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because he now had to see Snape, one-on-one, again?<p>

No, it couldn't be just that. Maybe he felt bad because he'd come so close to hurting another person really badly? He, honestly, could have killed Malfoy if things had been different—Harry wasn't a murderer.

He wasn't.

And he'd promised Lupin he would try to not hurt people, and he'd almost done that exact thing. Maybe he wasn't fit to be around people anymore, maybe he needed to go live in a cave far away. It wasn't as though he had to worry about freezing to death. Or he could go live with dragons, with Charlie, Harry would probably get on with them quite well.

But the strange sheen that Malfoy's robes had after Harry had set fire to them… That sheen was wrong. It was really wrong, and that made Harry feel even worse and he nearly had to spit out the food he'd been chewing on.

Hermione's cool fingers grabbed onto his wrist and Harry's vision focused on something in the great hall for the first time that night. He'd been so caught up in thinking about Malfoy, fire, and burnt robes that he'd completely stopped paying attention to his surroundings.

"I don't think you should go to detention tonight," Hermione said firmly, each word calm and measured as if she'd put a lot of thought into them.

Harry shook his head and immediately regretted doing so. He forced himself to speak, "I have to."

He sounded terrible.

"You sound awful," Hermione informed him. "You look like you're about to pass out."

"She's right," Ron chimed in helpfully, "I'm surprised you haven't, actually."

"If you don't want me to go to detention then maybe you shouldn't be focused on keeping me conscious. You know I'd have to be in mortal peril for Snape to let me miss a detention," Harry replied.

Hermione removed her hand from his wrist and chewed on her bottom lip. Harry suddenly realized that his lips were extremely chapped and his mouth felt really dry—cotton mouth, he'd heard that phrase before, and that seemed like the right phrase to describe it.

Harry rested his head on his hands, and again his thoughts quickly returned to the incident in potions.

What was going on? Everything seemed so strange.

"Come on Harry," Hermione said suddenly and there were cold hands pulling him up from his place at the table. "We're going, now."

"I haven't finished dinner," Harry protested weakly. "And I've got detention, and Malfoy's robes are still on fire—"

"What was that, Potter?"

Harry's thought process froze and he realized what he'd said, but he couldn't really figure out why he'd said it. And it was really hard to concentrate now that he could feel Snape glaring at him, it made his skin crawl and grow even more feverish. Besides, there was no way Malfoy's robes could still be on fire, maybe his reminisces had seemed so realistic that he'd momentarily believed it. That made no sense.

"As you can see, Professor," Hermione declared. Her voice rang clear, like a bell, and it managed to cut through all the other noise in Harry's head. Harry wished he could sound that confident and assertive when talking to Snape. "He's completely delirious and needs to go to the hospital wing."

Harry turned around and leaned back against the table so that he could see the expression on Snape's face. He was intently studying Harry, and maybe he believed Hermione, but he didn't want to say it. Harry really couldn't tell, and that was probably for the best—he didn't really want to be an expert on divining Snape's facial expressions.

Though if he could, then he would likely be able to stop making up his divinations homework. Even though, with Ron's encouragement, Harry was still using his dreams as "predictions."

"I know a faked ailment when I see it," Snape scoffed, but Harry could feel Snape's eyes intently study him, "detention, now, Potter."

* * *

><p>That's it for now! I'll update sooner next time XD<p> 


	17. Practical Application of Logic

Well, last chapter seemed to have thrown a bit of you off my trail for a second...and I feel bad because none of your questions will be answered for a while! Harry has always seemed a bit lazy to me, and I feel that in this he'd be no different-especially since it's so stressful. Eventually, things will explode out, but it'll take time and a suitably dramatic catalyst...I'll make the chapters longer so it won't end up being so far away. (If it makes you feel better, I've got it mostly written out...)

I also struggled to find a good way to reveal what happened...since the whole story is told from Harry's POV that limits a lot, and I think it would be rather jarring to change things after a hundred and some odd pages. I also didn't want to have an awkward "HERE'S WHAT HAPPENED THE NIGHT YOU WERE CONCEIVED IN FRIGHTENING DETAIL! SHALL I SHOW YOU THE LINGERIE YOUR MOTHER WORE? IT MAY BE A CLUE TO DEFEATING VOLDEMORT!"conversation...I've been reading random Severitus fics...there's a lot of people telling Harry about his parents' sexual habits...it's real weird.

REAL WEIRD.

Nonetheless, I like this chapter, and I hope you guys will too!

**Chapter Seventeen: Practical Application of Logic**

Snape grabbed Harry's arm and jerked him forward, nearly knocking him off balance…but Snape did not let go of Harry's arm, and his other hand went to hold Harry's shoulder, so that even though Harry felt faint he was able to walk normally, or so it seemed…Harry couldn't really tell if he was actually moving his feet correctly.

As soon as they'd cleared the dining hall, Snape adjusted his hands so that he was more carrying Harry, than leading him.

"With your luck, you'd think you'd been cursed at birth," Snape growled, as he began dragging Harry down to the dungeons.

"Wasn't I?" Harry countered. It would have been more effective if he'd been able to muster up a suitably dirty look to throw at Snape just to make sure that the man knew _exactly_ what Harry meant, but for now words would have to do.

Snape had nothing to say to that, and they continued in almost silence the rest of the way to Snape's office. Only the sound of Harry's feet dragging when he slipped and clopping on the floor as he tried to walk got in the way of total silence.

"The chair, now, Potter," Snape growled, and with a light shove, Harry was able to make it far enough so that he could collapse in the hard and extremely cold chair. Harry turned and pressed his face against the back of the chair, he closed his eyes and again the scene from potions class played out in his mind.

"Am I in time-out?" Harry demanded, but his voice still sounded god-awful so it probably didn't come across as derisive as Harry meant for it to, "Because, honestly, I don't think I'll be able to do much else for punishment."

"You're not here for a detention, Potter," Snape snapped, and Harry wondered with an uneasy shudder exactly what he _was_ here for. So much this being a normal detention, it seemed.

"Then why am I here?" Harry demanded, but he didn't bother to open his eyes.

"You know exactly what's happened, you told me so yourself."

Harry forcefully tried to focus on the things that happened today _besides _potions class, but he hadn't really interacted with Snape much at all today.

Probably be best to start with what he knew for sure:

"I set Malfoy's robes on fire," Harry listed, "I went to the library, I went to dinner."

"What did you say to me at dinner," Snape demanded.

Harry did open his eyes for that one, there was no way! Absolutely no way!

"Malfoy's robes are still on fire?"

They should have burned away completely by now, nothing that small could keep burning for hours. Harry should know, he'd set plenty of things on fire.

"Not actively," Snape replied, sounding as if he was speaking to a small child that was possibly infected with drool, "you're familiar with embers?"

"Not really," Harry mumbled, and he closed his eyes and went back to pressing his face into the chair, "I'm mostly familiar with flames."

"Though they are not in flames, Mr. Malfoy's robes are, as we speak, slowly burning into nothingness," Snape explained, sounding incredibly peeved—so peeved that Harry cracked open one eye and saw Snape staring at Harry as though he expected this explanation to make Harry also burn away into nothingness.

Good thing pyromancy wasn't genetic.

Harry cleared his throat and lifted his head, trying to look and sound just as intent and serious as Snape was currently, "Malfoy _has_ changed clothes?"

Snape's face went from looking incredibly irritated and instead went a bit slack as he stared at Harry…incredulously? Yes, that was definitely Snape's incredulous face. So much for Harry not becoming an expert in Snape's facial expressions...

"Hasn't he?" Harry asked, now feeling more confident that this was a reasonable question as Snape was unable to answer.

"What a practical application of logic, Potter," Snape declared blandly.

Harry forced a smile, before closing his eyes and falling back against the chair.

Snape let out a frustrated noise and then his fingers clamped, hard, onto Harry's chin and jerked his head up so that he was staring into Snape's dark eyes. Harry couldn't actually tell, and maybe it was the lighting, where Snape's irises became pupils. It was kind of creepy, and goosebumps crawled across Harry's skin.

Actually, maybe Snape's eyes weren't the creepy thing.

Actually…

Something wasn't right here.

Harry did _not_ like this at all.

Harry swallowed and closed his eyes, since Snape was holding him too firmly for him to turn his head…or Harry was so weak he couldn't maintain proper function of his muscles.

"Potter, _look at me_," Snape commanded, leaving no room for discussion, and the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up. Though it seemed like a very unwise decision, Harry looked up and soon as his eyes met Snape's a peculiar sensation came over him, it wasn't quite pain, but still…something wasn't right.

…He remembered, strangely and with more detail, setting fire to Malfoy's robes...but at the part where he'd gone out into the hallway the memory cut off and started over again, and slowly pain spread through Harry's head.

He remembered the fire appearing, tiny and orange, on the side of Malfoy's robes before spreading across the back. Then Snape yelled at Harry and the fire went out, leaving Malfoy's robes smoking.

Pain cracked through Harry's skull, seeming to slice it in half—it reminded Harry of the pain he felt when Voldemort was around, but it wasn't the same at all. He remembered the tiny and orange flame on Malfoy's side and then it went out, and again he watched it bloom into life and then go out like a flower in one of those videos they would watch in nursery school during science—where they'd show the flower growing really fast. Harry always liked the days when they'd watch videos in nursery school, because he'd never been allowed to watch TV.

His attention was jerked from that thought process, with a jolt of sharp pain. Then he suddenly became acutely aware of the fire in the fireplace, but it wasn't the same as the little fire he'd placed on Malfoy. Then he found another fire, and another, and even more, before finally—_finally_, he found the little flame he'd put on Malfoy.

And it was such a huge relief to find it; Harry realized he'd been looking for it all day, and that had been so exhausting.

He gathered up the flame, which extinguished it completely, and wondered if he'd ever felt so relieved in his life.

* * *

><p>What had just happened?<p>

Harry removed his glasses and heavily rubbed his hands over his face, his eyes and brain felt gummy and he couldn't figure out what had just happened. Hadn't he been having a conversation with Snape? Had he been drugged? Was he ill?

He seemed to remember being ill, but he wasn't in the hospital wing. In fact he was in his bed, in the dormitory, but he couldn't remember getting there.

Harry opened up the curtains around his bed and found that the dormitory was empty. Frowning, Harry opened up the door and went downstairs to the common room only to find it empty as well.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Harry plopped down in a chair before the fireplace and stared at the fire. Tilting his head, Harry held out his hand and studied the flames between his fingers…the sight of it sent shivers down Harry's spine and he closed his hand into a fist. Frowning, he pressed his eyes closed and his mind strayed back to his…dream? It was strange.

Harry opened his eyes, feeling determination flow through him and he stared into the flames once more and then held his hand up again. The flames danced between his fingers and it was all too easy for Harry to imagine the flames twining around them, his fist closing around warm fire.

It had all seemed so real, so honest.

It seemed right.

He hadn't been burned, Harry reminded himself; the flames in his dream had not harmed him when he'd touched them. They'd extinguished, harmless, as he'd absorbed them back within himself.

Harry's dreams had been taking a turn for the strangely realistic, he remembered. Each seemed more real than the last, and who was to say that these dreams couldn't be reality—or in the case of some of these dreams, that they weren't true memories.

Magic could make anything possible, right?

Harry could already create flames, and though they burned him—who was to say that they _had_ to burn him. In the dream he'd had of Snape and his mother, Snape had expressed surprise that Harry hadn't been harmed.

There was a way.

Harry was willing to find it.

Harry slipped down from the chair and knelt on the floor, crawling closer to the fireplace until the heat burned across his face. Harry held up his closed hand, and stared at the flames feeling scared, but unwilling to give up.

Spreading his fingers, Harry stared beyond them into the flames, he could do this.

He could.

Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes and reached forward—

Then he heard someone yelling the password to the common room and Harry jumped up and turned to look at the portrait hole. People began pouring in.

Dinner was just now finished.

"Don't look too sick to me, Potter," A fifth year Harry didn't know called out to him.

"Faked it to get out of detention," Harry blurted out without thinking, and again with the lies—Harry couldn't understand where these words were coming from, how could lying be so easy? Surely someone could tell that he wasn't telling the truth?

"Atta boy, Potter!" The fifth year exclaimed, and Harry wondered if even Hermione would be so easy to convince.

"Harry!" Ron yelled, "Harry, what are you doing here?"

"Faked the whole thing!" Another person exclaimed, laughing, and Ron furrowed his brow, and then Hermione ducked in through the portrait hole and her eyes immediately found Harry's and she stared at him in disbelief.

No, they could tell he was lying…about this at least.

Harry just wished he could remember what had happened so he could tell them, or at the very least make sense of the weird flashes of flames that he could remember. He always did his best thinking with Hermione there to help…Harry nodded to the boy's staircase and headed back up to his dorm. Ron and Hermione hurried after him, catching up to him seconds later.

"What happened?" Ron demanded as soon as they shut the door behind them. "What did that ruddy git do?"

Harry sat down on the edge of his bed and tugged on his hair. All he could remember was flashes of fire, things that happened in class and dinner.

"I don't know," Harry bit out, angry because he couldn't remember what happened. "All I can remember is fire, and I don't know how I got back up here—how did I get up here before dinner finished? I was in Snape's office!"

Then Harry froze and realized how he'd probably gotten here.

"The floo," Harry gasped out and he turned to look at Ron and Hermione, to see if they could back up his claims—to see if he was making sense, to his own ears he's sounded crazed, but that could also be because of how his thoughts were swirling around his head. "I bet he used the floo to get me back up here!"

Hermione looked troubled as she asked, "Were you unconscious?"

"Maybe," Harry said, his voice stumbling, "That or asleep. I don't think anything too terrible happened, I mean, I was practically falling out at dinner, barely making any sense, and now I'm back to normal…"

Hermione frowned and came over to sit next to Harry, Ron plopped down on his own bed, which was unmade and probably why Hermione had decided to sit on Harry's.

"We should make a list of everything you can remember and then we can try to piece everything from there," Hermione suggested firmly, "we have to do it quickly before you forget even more."

Ron, who normally was opposed to any sort of organization and especially lists, dove for his trunk and quickly produced a quill and parchment. Ron looked a bit pale on his cheeks and his nose was a bit red, "Do you think Snape erased his memory?"

"No, or Harry wouldn't be able to remember anything at all," Hermione declared and then her head dropped for a moment before she looked up at Harry for validation, "Snape doesn't do things halfway or without a reason, right Harry?"

"Right," Harry agreed, surprised Hermione had taken his words to heart so quickly and easily.

"Now what happened after you left the great hall," Hermione asked, and Ron had his quill poised to write down everything Harry said.

"He carried me down to his office," Harry replied, "he knew I wasn't well the whole time he argued with you, but he needed me to go with him because apparently the fire in Malfoy's robes had never gone out."

Hermione looked a bit shocked upon hearing that, "So wait, does that mean Snape thought you were still controlling the fire, even though you hadn't seen Malfoy since class?"

"I don't know," Harry replied shaking his head, "Snape and I argued for a bit and then he made me look into his eyes and that's where everything gets really strange—all I can remember is a bunch of fires, all over the school, and I keep having the urge to touch all the fires, and then I woke up here," Harry patted the bed next to him, "in bed."

"So, you went to Snape's office, argued, looked at Snape and then passed out dreaming about fire?" Ron asked, "That doesn't make sense."

"No, he looked into Snape's _eyes_," Hermione corrected, "doing that must have done something to Harry, made him dream about fires and _then _Harry passed out, so Snape brought him up here…somehow."

"The fireplace," Harry corrected, "he had to have used the floo to bring me up here."

Ron shook his head dubiously, "I don't think Hogwarts is connected to the floo system."

"It is," Harry replied, "I saw Pomfrey come through the fireplace when she checked on me when I stayed in Lupin's office."

"Okay, so Hogwarts is connected to the floo," Ron easily amended, "then that all makes sense, but really, what could Snape do to Harry with his eyes that would make him pass out?"

Hermione worried her lip a bit and pulled a section of her hair flat, deep in thought, and then she sighed deeply, finishing with, "I don't know—"

"Hang on, don't speak, just let me savor this moment for a second," Ron exclaimed, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply as if trying to imprint every detail of this moment, even smell, into his brain. "Okay, now you can say you're going to the library."

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione said rolling her eyes, "I don't know why I'm friends with you, sometimes. But I will head off to library now, only an hour and a half before it closes and I don't even know where to begin my search…Actually, I'll need one of you to come with me to help me carry my books."

Harry almost suggested that she just levitate them (was she a witch or not?), but then he realized it was more likely she just wanted company. Smiling, Harry stood up to go with her, and Ron flopped back in his bed, dismissing them with, "Better you than me, mate."

* * *

><p>Harry lay in bed that night, listening to Neville snore, tossing and turning. Sometimes, he'd wake up down in the common room, close enough to the fireplace to fall in, and then he'd wake up in bed and he'd swear he could feel the flames of the sconces out in the hallway. Feeling feverish, he'd have to remind himself that he actually was in bed, even when he'd have to roll away from the common room fireplace to keep his blanket from catching on fire.<p>

This is how he ended up on the floor of the dormitory with Ron laughing at him.

* * *

><p>That's it for this chapter!<p> 


	18. Signed in Blood

_Many thanks to everyone that has submitted a review! I love hearing from you guys!_

I hope this chapter reads okay, I added in a few scenes after the initial writing and I tried my best to integrate them as seamlessly as possible...but I miss things...

**Chapter Eighteen: Signed in Blood**

"I see it now," Ron breathed out airily and he leaned close to the candle burning on their table to inhale the scent of it, and Harry was laughing uncontrollably behind his hand, "yes, it's clear to me now, that all these strange dreams you've been having are the true cause of you falling out bed last night."

"The only solution," Seamus joined in from in front of them, "is obviously to put rails on the side of Harry's bed."

"Boys! What exactly have the leaves been telling you to put you in such good spirits?" Trelawney demanded outraged that the leaves would joke around with Harry, Ron and Seamus and leave her out.

"I'm not sure, Professor," Ron replied and his ears turned a bit pink as he held out his cup. If he turned much redder then he would compromise the plan, Harry stared at Ron trying to will the flush out of the other boy's face.

Professor Trelawney choked and stared down at the leaves in Ron's cup and then compared them to the leaves in Harry's. Harry felt more suffocated than he normally did in this class, and worried that they'd finally be found out—he couldn't help but wonder what detention with Trelawney would be like, and then decided that he'd be better off jumping from the astronomy tower than finding out the true answer.

"There always strange twists to the fates that are difficult to interpret," Trelawney said slowly, and it was clear that her brain was working double-time to try and figure out what all this could possibly mean.

Harry could only regret that the herbs she'd been inhaling hadn't done more to hinder her thought-process…

Because, well...Professor Trelawney was now convinced that Harry and Ron were carrying on a secret affair behind Hermione's back…of course, they were all ridiculously happy in spite of Harry's treachery.

This certainly made class a lot more interesting, and also had the benefit of getting Draco Malfoy to stop teasing Harry about passing out during the game…because he now had more interesting things to make fun of.

"I suppose I should have seen this coming," Hermione said in annoyance, her feet dragging and alternatively stomping as they made their way down to transfigurations, "but really, who could ever suspect that the love of their life would cheat on them?"

Ron snickered wildly and tripped over his own feet into a nearby suit of armor which caught him and carefully placed him back on his feet. Ron patted the armor's arm in thanks.

Hermione paid Ron no attention and she rolled her eyes and waved an arm around angrily, "I mean honestly! She's such a fraud I can't even think from how crazy all of this is!"

"Well, on the plus side," Harry commented, "at least no one will think it's actually true—they'll just act like it is because it's funnier that way…I mean," Harry pointed over to where Ron was shaking with laughter, "even Ron thinks it's funny!"

And even though Ron wouldn't notice, Hermione still glared at him just to keep her stance on the issue firm.

"Well," she huffed, "it's not! Our plan wasn't supposed to backfire on _us_!"

Harry shrugged, "Well, it's only November, we still have time to think up a new plan that will really show Trelawney that all her incense is melting her brain."

"Yeah," Hermione said, frowning, "I'll just have to head back to the library to look for new ideas after classes."

"That's the spirit Hermione," Harry said with a smile.

"Or maybe," Ron interjected with a sly grin that was more familiar coming from his twin brothers' faces, "Remember how Neville was saying he wanted to use the spell too?"

Hermione's head tilted in thought, and her eyes sparked a bit.

Harry was beginning to wonder if they should continue to encourage Hermione's mischievous side, she was way too good at making trouble. Course it'd be strange if she wasn't good at it.

Hermione was good at everything.

* * *

><p>They were the first to arrive in Transfigurations and McGonagall looked up from her desk to greet them with a stern nod and the slightest hint of a smile.<p>

Hermione pulled Harry over to a desk near the front, but by the window. A compromise if Harry had ever seen one, he thought with a smile. Ron plopped down in the chair closest to the window and his shoulders began shaking with laughter as he thought about what happened in Divinations. Hermione shook her head in amusement and pulled out her book and notes, Harry sat down next to Ron and crossed his arms to wait for the rest of the class to arrive.

The rest of the Gryffindors trailed in all at once, all laughing and joking and when they saw that Harry and Ron were sitting next to each other they became even louder.

"What's all this?" McGonagall demanded in surprise, "What on earth happened this time?"

Everyone began laughing harder, and Ron dropped his head to the desk because he wasn't able to support his head anymore.

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose and then looked between Harry and Hermione, as they were the only two who apparently weren't affected by the hysterical laughing curse that afflicted all of the third year Gryffindors.

Harry shrugged and Hermione leaned over to smack Ron so that he would stop laughing, she then looked back to McGonagall to see if her actions had somehow helped.

It took a long time and some very stern words from McGonagall before the rest of the class quieted down.

Then they were each given a small, silver jewelry box and instructed to make a Christmas wreath to help decorate the castle. It was a more complex assignment than they were normally given, and probably a bit of an end of term test.

Bored, Harry began poking his jewelry box to try and coax it into the proper shape and color. It was difficult to come up with a design for a wreath though, and Harry wasn't really too excited for his classwork to be put on display in the castle.

His jewelry box turned into a weird, sickly-green donut thing after a bit of prodding and Harry looked over to Hermione. She was working on each little pine needle so that each tiny detail was just right.

Harry didn't have time that.

And apparently neither did anyone else:

"I should have guessed from your behavior walking in that you would all be completely useless today," McGonagall griped as she supervised everyone's work, "but I never would have figured that you couldn't even concentrate on _Christmas_."

Ron swished his wand and a sprig of holly appeared in his hair and Harry snorted, waving his own wand to turn it back into hair. Ron's hand immediately jerked up to his head…figured that he couldn't feel his own magic backfiring on him, but he could feel Harry setting it straight again.

"Mr. Potter, that is the saddest wreath I've ever laid eyes on," McGonagall sighed forlornly. "What could possibly have wreaked your concentration so much?"

No one in class offered explanation, but Ron and several others did begin snickering uncontrollably much to McGonagall's chagrin…when she appeared fully distracted, Harry swirled his wand quickly and transfigured part of Ron's hair into a holly crown. Ron's eyes went wide at the touch of Harry's magic and his hands flew up to see what had happened to his hair. He yowled in pain as the holly pricked him and everyone in the class began laughing.

"Who did that?" McGonagall demanded…but she and Hermione had a lot in common, for example: she had a difficult time hiding her amusement.

"It won't come off!" Ron exclaimed in shock and he pulled roughly at his transfigured hair before complaining that it hurt.

"Of course it hurts, Mr. Weasley—it's your _hair_!"

Harry transfigured a little bow onto his droopy wreath, and prodded it with his wand for a few seconds to see if he could wake it up a little bit. Harry tilted his head and studied it for a few moments…eh…it might look a bit perkier now...but the difference was negligible.

Good enough, Harry decided with a shrug, and pushed the wreath away from him.

"But how do I turn it _back_?" Ron whined, and McGonagall looked like she was about to blow a gasket.

"Have you not paid any attention _whatsoever_—"

"Argh! It's stabbing me!" Ron cried and he pulled at his normal hair in pain and frustration. "Change it back!"

Hermione groaned and chided him, "Honestly, Ron, undoing transfigurations is—"

"Something you've ended up in the hospital wing over, because you couldn't do it yourself!" Ron retorted, "You can tell me what to do when you've had your hair attack you!"

Hermione's mouth tilted thoughtfully and she studied a lock of her large, uncontrollable hair…her expression made Harry wonder if she was familiar with the feeling.

"Enough! Thirty points from Gryffindor for harmfully transfiguring classmates, arguing, lack of basic transfiguration skills, and," McGonagall exclaimed and that put an end to all the noise in the classroom, "because the perpetrator of this prank refuses to take responsibility for their actions."

That was less than ten points taken for each transgression, a new record low.

Harry ducked his head to hide his grin and found himself staring at his terribly droopy wreath just in time to watch a few pine needles fall off onto his desk. Harry whipped his wand to reattach them to his wreath, and poked it once more to perk it up again.

"Mr. Potter, surely you can do better," McGonagall sighed as she walked behind him, and Harry poked his wreath once more and it turned a brighter shade of green. That didn't seem to be much of an improvement from the second sad sigh it garnered from McGonagall.

She continued her round around the classroom, and Harry merely attempted to look busy as he watched Ron struggle to round out his silver wreath which was currently a square bit of silvery pine needles. Before Ron could make any more progress, though, the chimes sounded and Harry quickly jumped to his feet and rushed toward the door—but he wasn't fast enough:

"Mr. Potter, remain after class."

Harry froze at the door, blocking everyone else's way out, and with a sigh Harry squared his shoulders and turned around. He stood at the blackboard and watched his classmates hurry out, as he attempted to control his composure and figure out what he would say…the room emptied before he managed to figure all that out.

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked softly before turning to look at her. He couldn't be sure what she was going to say, she was a difficult one to figure out: simultaneously too stern and too tolerant.

You never knew which McGonagall you were going to get.

"Wand, if you please," she replied, holding out her hand and Harry knew he'd been caught. It was likely she'd seen him perform the spell out of the corner of her eye and had been hoping that he'd fess up just because she'd asked.

Well, Harry hadn't and he still didn't plan to.

She was going to have to pry it from his wand, like she'd already decided to do. Frowning, but feeling overly stubborn, Harry reached into his robes and produced his wand. Then he strode forward, and dropped his wand into her open palm.

She watched his face, probably hoping that he'd just take credit for his misbehavior and save her the trouble of performing the spell. Harry crossed his arms and leaned against her desk, waiting, hoping he looked settled in and unwilling to move until she cast.

McGonagall sighed and produced her own wand from her sleeve—and really, just how did all the professors manage to do that? Was it a sticking spell? It had to be something! If Harry stuck his wand up his sleeve, it'd end up on the floor! What sorcery was this?

Harry figured that now was not the proper time to ask.

"_Prior Incantato,"_ McGonagall cast, her voice firm, and Harry knew then that he was going to be conversing with the too stern McGonagall this time and he was not likely to get away with anything.

From the tip of Harry's wand a miniature version of his wreath popped out, and it was followed by a sad little bow…then a circlet of holly leaves.

Satisfied, McGonagall ended the spell and looked up to Harry who bit his bottom lip and ducked his head.

"What was the problem with your wreath?" McGonagall demanded, though it was clear she meant to ask what was wrong with Harry, why had he purposefully messed up his wreath…

Harry decided to avoid the question and he petulantly replied, "It was wilting."

McGonagall didn't think that was a very good answer and made a soft noise in the back of her throat that Harry narrowly missed, because she stood up and it was almost covered by the noise her chair made while scraping on the stone floor.

"This is third time this month you've done something like this," McGonagall chided him.

"No, I don't think so," Harry countered, knowing the number was probably a lot higher than that. That meant that he could keep playing pranks on his classmates and McGonagall wouldn't be overly likely to catch him in the act.

McGonagall leveled him with a stern gaze, her eyes as intent on Harry as a dog's would be on a steak. Harry couldn't help but feel like he was going to be dinner for McGonagall, if he made one wrong move, "Did you skip the reading again?"

Harry squirmed a bit and wondered how he should answer because wreaths were a surprise lesson, not the planned one, but how was he supposed to know whether or not the reading related…but he'd also done a lot better than most of his classmates at making the wreath, so he could probably get away with saying he had done it and merely messed up.

"I'll take that as a no," McGonagall declared because apparently Harry had taken too long to answer…maybe he should start thinking on his feet more when he got into these situations.

Harry didn't respond, since it had worked so well the last time, and turned to stare out of the window. The sky was a dank grey and it looked like it was likely to start snowing soon enough, probably in the next few days.

"Sit down," McGonagall bade him, and Harry plopped down in the nearest chair. McGonagall retrieved something from her desk and strode up to him, placing a silver jewelry box before him—it looked like the one that she'd given Hermione to work on.

"Make a wreath," she commanded, and she held Harry's wand out to him in a gesture which would be threatening if she hadn't been holding the wand backwards.

Sighing Harry took the wand from her and began constructing a healthier looking wreath. He wanted to keep the foliage silver just to spite his head of house but decided against it, instead he made a near-perfect duplicate of the wreath he'd made in class, but with perkier foliage.

When he'd finished McGonagall looked angrier than she had to begin with and said, "You're forgetting something, Mr. Potter. A bit of holly wouldn't be remiss, I believe."

Harry flicked his wand and the wreath turned into a large wad of holly.

"Can I go now?"

McGonagall, shockingly, was frowning and didn't look very likely to let him go.

"So you didn't do the reading and you come to class perform poorly, hex your best friend, and manage to correct your mistakes within five minutes of class ending?" McGonagall demanded as she paced around Harry, before coming to a stop before him and placing her palms on the desk before him, "Mr. Potter, I will take fifty points and assign detention whenever one of your pranks manages to be of better quality thank your actual assignment. Do you understand? Class is more important, your grades take precedence."

Harry couldn't help but notice that her threat left out a punishment for his "pranks" it seemed she might be willing to turn a blind eye to those so long as his grades were good? No wonder everyone thought she favored Gryffindor.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry mumbled.

"Also, I assign those readings for a reason," McGonagall continued, "remember that part of your grade is determined from written assignments, and I demand quality from those as well."

"Understood," Harry sighed trying to sound as demure as possible, "do I have permission to leave now, Professor?"

"Another twenty points from Gryffindor," McGonagall replied, upping the point count to fifty—probably to show that she was serious, "just so you know my word is good."

Looked like Harry had some reading to do.

* * *

><p>"It could happen to anyone," Ron told Harry sympathetically. "It's not you, you know."<p>

"Yeah, I know," Harry replied glumly and he chucked the broom that was probably older than he was back into the school's broom shed.

Even Harry was not good enough at quidditch to make up for a crappy broom.

Harry was only as good as his broom.

"Maybe McGonagall will get you another broom," Ron suggested hopefully, "like she did in first year?"

I feel like she would have mentioned it by now," Harry despondently shook his head, "I think I'll have to replace it myself."

Ron swallowed and looked away, and Harry kicked the wall of the broom shed. Good broomsticks were expensive, and though Harry could get one, he didn't think he should—he may not know much about money, but he knew he shouldn't spend twice as much as he did on school supplies in one go.

Harry may have to quit the quidditch team after all; there was no way he could compete using a school broom. Harry groaned and hit his forehead against the wall, shaking his head in misery. Harry had hoped that inviting Ron to watch practice would have helped somehow, but though Ron supported the worst team in all of quidditch history he wasn't going to lie about how terrible Harry was as a seeker now.

"Let's just forget about this and go up to the common room," Ron suggested, "play exploding snap or something—there's still time to figure out what to do. The next game isn't until next year, remember?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed, "something will work out."

They walked the rest of the way back to the common room in silence, and because Harry was so glum he nearly missed it, but even if he missed it right then he would have noticed eventually. It was that time of the year again, the merriest time of all. The sign-up list to remain at Hogwarts for the holiday had been posted. Hogwarts over the holidays, completely devoid of students and full of decorations, was an even more magical place than normal.

And yet…Harry frowned at the parchment and remembered back to the beginning of the semester when he'd hoped he have a family to spend the holidays with for once. Even if staying meant the possibility of spending more time with Snape, Harry would rather take his chances here than with the Dursleys.

Funny how things had a way of working out.

Honestly, Harry would probably be better off without a family at this point. He was sure of it, especially since his choices were between Snape and the Dursleys.

Frowning, Harry patted his pockets, but remembered that he was still in his quidditch uniform and would not have a quill—if he did he would know because it would have stabbed him several times during practice.

"Have a quill on you?" Harry asked Ron who shook his head and shrugged. Then Harry spotted Hermione, curled up on the couch, working on an essay, Harry dashed over to her and snatched Hermione's quill from her hand.

"Hey!" Hermione yelled in outrage, jumping up to her feet, "Bring that back here right now, Harry Potter!"

"In a second," Harry called back, and Harry quickly scribbled his name on the sign-up list. Harry then turned around only to slam into Ron, who shoved him back into the wall and in turn took the quill from Harry. Ron wrote his name under Harry's.

"Oi!" George exclaimed—Harry could tell who it was because they hadn't changed out of their quidditch jerseys, Fred had his recently replaced while George's was still ratty and not-quite-maroon-anymore. "Mum said we all had to go home this year!"

"Too late I already signed up to stay!" Ron yelled back, and threw in a rude gesture to drive the point home.

"S'not like you signed in blood," Fred hollered back, and Ron put his hands on his hips in a manner that was eerily reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley and demanded, "How do you know what I do and don't do?!"

"Oh, the sign-up list is up?" Hermione interjected in surprise. It was impressive that she'd been in the common room the whole time, and hadn't noticed McGonagall come in and post it and announce its presence. Her homework must have been truly riveting to keep her from thinking about Christmas.

Hermione, excitedly, stepped onto and then jumped over the couch to come over and sign up to stay as well. "Mum and dad are going on some tedious trip this year," She informed Harry, with a bit of exasperation that her parents dare travel over the holidays, "won't work out well at all for my homework schedule."

"I know, terribly selfish of them," Harry said, mimicking her tone, "what on earth were they thinking!"

"The nerve of some people," Ron joined in, "why, some of that homework might even have been assigned!"

Harry snorted, spitting a bit, and slammed his hand over his mouth, laughing. Hermione was fighting down a smile, and trying to look as stern as a thirteen year old could manage to be and chided, "You two would understand why I did all the classwork if you actually tried to learn something!"

"I learn plenty," Ron retorted, "I learn stuff all the time, why just this morning I learned that bangers are excellent when paired with jam doughnuts!"

"That's true," Harry injected, "he made me try it—goes quite well."

Ron nodded smugly.

"Which would be fine and dandy if this were a culinary school," Hermione countered, and she tossed her bushy hair over her shoulder and declared haughtily, "Well, fine, I'm not going to help you on our potions assignment since you're both so good at learning."

"Good, I didn't want to do that assignment anyway!" Ron teased as he strode past Hermione and dashed upstairs. Harry couldn't help but be amused that Ron was taking Hermione's lack of help as a pass on homework for _potions_. He'd probably realize his mistake the night before and stay up till midnight trying to do it himself, and eventually Hermione would take pity on him and let him use her paper for reference.

Right now, though, Hermione was outraged and didn't look like she wanted to help anyone with homework ever again. She huffed, loudly, and crossed her arms, looking unimpressed before turning to Harry who grinned and shrugged before running after Ron.


	19. To Malfoy!

_Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I love hearing from you guys! :D_

**Chapter Nineteen: To Malfoy!**

Harry sat on the blisteringly cold quidditch stands and watched the snow slowly dust the field and blow up and off towards the castle, enjoying the novelty of no longer having to worry about the snowflakes sticking to his glasses. Besides him there was no one else outside, at least on this part of the grounds…that would change soon when the snow got a bit thicker and became a heavy white blanket that swept off into the distance.

All the students had been eagerly waiting for the first snow this year. Sometime between McGonagall posting the list for the students who wished to remain at the castle and the first snow-fall, the Christmas spirit seemed to have fallen upon the castle like an oddly cheerful plague that led its victims to sing magic-fied versions of Christmas carols.

Several of the teachers had fallen prey to the sickness—Professor Flitwick decorated his classroom and McGonagall had attached a poinsettia to her hat—so it had been decided that there would be a Hogsmeade weekend right before the end of term.

All the students were excited to see the town's Christmas decorations and Ron and Hermione couldn't contain their excitement for last minute shopping…which left Harry feeling very small and alone.

Of course watching snow fall from the grey sky from his vantage point in the empty stands and dust across the massive school grounds wasn't doing much to make him feel any bigger.

Harry coughed from the cold and his extremely chapped lips cracked open, and he idly sucked on it until the pain of it faded and he could no longer taste blood. His face felt raw and burnt from the cold and the wind, and he'd probably look sunburned for the next couple of days…He should probably get inside.

Maybe Hermione would still help him with his homework even if she wouldn't help Ron; Harry stood up and tried, unsuccessfully, to brush snow from his robes and took one more look across the peaceful grounds.

Off in the distance he could see a small orange animal prowling towards the whomping willow…it was probably the same orange animal he'd seen with the black dog that one time. Ron said it was probably a kneazle.

The kneazle nimbly evaded the willow's branches and rubbed up against the trunk of the three; it disappeared behind the trunk and didn't come out on the other side. Harry shoved his bare hands in his pockets and tried to brush off the feeling of unease he'd gotten from seeing that.

But he couldn't stay out here any longer, it was too cold…maybe he'd ask Hermione and Ron to get him some gloves while they were in Hogsmeade—some charmed ones.

Harry couldn't help but look back over his shoulder a couple of times to see if the kneazle came back out from behind the whomping willow, but it didn't.

* * *

><p>"The holidays are a most auspicious time," Trelawney happily informed them as they sipped on their tea, which she'd spiced especially for the season. The overwhelming heat of her classroom was actually welcome today, the snow had brought a deep chill with it and it seemed to slowly seep into the castle through the stone walls.<p>

The common room had been filled with blankets, and though Harry had never measured and couldn't verify his hunch—it seemed that the fireplace had gotten bigger so that it could accommodate a larger fire.

And still it remained cold in the tower, all the time, until it seemed that Harry would never be warm again.

"Wonder what kind of spices she puts in _her_ tea," Ron muttered under his breath and Harry snorted into his teacup. Trelawney shot them a look, but there was no force behind it—she couldn't bring herself to keep true love apart.

Or some crap like that.

Harry watched the tea swirl in his cup, in a perfect circle—the current caused by his charmed spit. Trelawney swept towards him, her robes were too long to show her feet so she looked as if she was being pulled along on a wagon. Harry and Ron both lifted their teacups up quickly and drank from them so that Trelawney wouldn't be able to see their tea swirling around in their cups—though she didn't appear to be familiar with the charm they'd used, they didn't want to raise suspicions.

"Professor!" Pavarti squeaked in alarm, "Professor, I don't—how can this happen!"

Trelawney immediately went over to the table where Lavender and Pavarti always sat, and Harry turned to stare at Hermione who looked just a little too surprised by Pavarti's outburst. Harry shook his head and downed the rest of his tea, idly wondering if he could get a refill.

Looked like Hermione had decided Neville wouldn't be the next best target.

"Oh, dear!" Trelawney gasped, "It seems as though I was all wrong about Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley! It seems that the fates had something else in mind for Mr. Weasley!"

Pavarti turned a bit green upon hearing that she was apparently destined to be with Ron forever in eternal happiness and immediately ran out of the room. Lavender stared at Ron in confusion, as if she couldn't understand how this could happen.

Malfoy seemed pleased that divinations had proved to be an endless source of ammunition against Ron and Harry. He was probably congratulating himself on signing up for the course. He likely thought it was the best decision he'd ever made.

Harry rolled his eyes and broke the silence saying, "Good job, mate!"

Ron immediately turned red all the way up to his hair, and several students began laughing.

"As I said," Trelawney sighed wistfully, "a most auspicious time indeed!"

"Not for Pavarti," Hermione said with a grin, just loud enough that Harry and Ron could hear her.

"But definitely for Malfoy," Harry replied, nodding over to the gleeful Slytherin.

Hermione, now unable to hide her huge grin, held up her tea cup and softly declared, "To Malfoy!"

Harry snatched Ron's cup, as his was empty, and agreed, "To Malfoy!"

They clicked their teacups and Harry downed the last bit of Ron's tea as the chimes sounded the end of class. Everyone in the class immediately hurried to grab their things, the noise level tripling in a single instant.

Harry glanced down into the cup—it seemed that the current of his backwash was opposite that of Ron's and the tea leaves had smeared across the bottom of the cup into a straight line…well, mostly straight. At one end the line seemed to fold off a bit…it looked…almost like an arrow?

Harry set it down on the table and on a whim looked out to where the arrow was pointing, nothing special was there. Just the whomping willow, and there wasn't even a kneazle there this time. Shrugging, Harry turned the cup upside down and left it sitting on the table he and Ron had shared.

Harry barely managed to avoid Trelawney on his way out of the classroom and he went down the ladder as quickly as he possibly could, but there was a bit of a back-up. Apparently Pavarti had chosen to wait outside for Lavender so that she could share her misery with her best friend.

And apparently Pavarti was _very_ miserable, because she cried for hours over the fact that she would only love Ron for entire life…but she cried in the middle of the common room so Harry was fairly certain she was just doing it for attention. Harry couldn't think of a reason that anyone would cry in the common room if they didn't _want_ everyone to see.

"You'll be really happy together though," Lavender said, trying to soothe her friend, "I mean it can't be so bad if you'll be happy?"

Hermione looked so incredibly smug, more so than Harry could ever remember her being.

"I'm not that bad, am I?" Ron asked, he was beginning to develop a complex—which Harry was sure Hermione considered an added benefit.

"Depends on who you ask, I suppose," Hermione replied loftily and her face remained firmly pleased with herself. "I mean, you are quite annoying, and it couldn't hurt to do a bit with your hair…also I think that smudge on your face is the same one you had when we boarded the train in first year."

Ron rubbed his face subconsciously with one hand and tugged on his hair with the other.

Harry cleared his throat to garner Ron's attention and whispered, "Wrong side."

Frowning Ron swapped his hands out, "Why'd you pick her anyways? Why not someone that was in on it? Like Seamus?"

"Simple," Hermione declared, "kill two birds with one stone, we get Pavarti to stop being so annoying in class and believing everything the old crock tells her _and_ we make an even bigger fool of Trelawney in the end, when she doesn't even have her favorite students to turn to."

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," Harry muttered.

"Fat lot of good it would do, you never listen to me anyways!" Hermione teased, sticking out her tongue.

"I listen to you plenty," Harry retorted, "I just don't ever do what you say!"

"Well, maybe if you did you wouldn't have so many detentions with Snape," Hermione huffed.

"I think that his incidence of detentions with Snape is independent of him doing what you say," Ron interjected and Hermione gaped at him for a second before her mouth moved to form the words "incidence" and "independent" in a bit of outrage.

Ron raised his eyebrow and self-consciously patted his hair before smugly declaring, "I listen to you too."

* * *

><p>While all the other teachers had gotten more cheerful with the approach of the break, Snape seemed to have gotten even fouler. He stalked around the room, his heavy black robes sweeping across the cold stone—the chill of the dungeons and the hushed fear that seemed to permeate the students, made it seem as though they were actually being taught by a dementor. And since Dementor Snape wasn't their usual professor, he'd mistakenly assigned the hair removal potion...which was two sections ahead of the last potion they'd brewed. This meant there were a lot of mistakes...and whenever anyone made a mistake, it caused Snape to grow more and more furious.<p>

Of course, Harry wasn't just anyone.

Though, like everyone else, he was very frightened and worried what Dementor Snape would do to him for messing up the potion. For a long time, Snape said nothing, merely regarded Harry's poor work and then finally his face twisted into deep disgust until his eye began twitching and finally he sharply declared, "Fifteen points, Potter!"

With a jerky, uncoordinated motion Snape's wand appeared in his hand as if summoned and he snapped his wrist. With that all of the contents of the cauldron and everything else on Harry's work station vanished...including Harry's book, ink, and quill. The Slytherins snickered wildly at the punishment as if they needed any reason to cackle like the hyenas they were…but oddly, Harry felt that their laughs were a bit subdued today. Even they had been affected by the suffocating mood.

Harry frowned after Snape turned on his heel and continued prowling the classroom and he caught Hermione's eyes—clearly she thought he'd done something else wrong, besides incorrectly brewing the potion on the worst day possible. He shrugged and turned to his empty work station.

He had no problem just sitting here for the rest of class…though he did wonder where his book and other belongings went off to.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Harry gloomily watched his classmates put their supplies away and clean up their stations, potions was incredibly boring when there was no potion to work on, and it had been almost frightening to watch Snape swoop in and harshly punish anyone who made a mistake. So Harry did feel relieved that class was nearly over, but he did wish that Snape had dismissed him. Soon everyone had finished and returned to their seats to await Snape's dismissal, which followed shortly and then after it:<p>

"Remain after class, Potter," Snape said, his tone dangerous and smooth and Harry flinched and sank down into his chair. He really expected no less after how the class had played out, but Snape sounded angrier than previously believed.

Harry lifted his bag, which he'd expected to be empty, but was instead full and very heavy with the weight of his books—he flipped open the top of his bag and discovered all of the things Snape had disappeared were safely in his bag.

Even though Harry really didn't like the man at _all_, he couldn't help but feel a moment of jealousy and awe at the fact the man had done all of that without saying a single spell.

Harry closed his bag and stood up, placing the strap over his shoulder and watched, nervously fidgeting, as his classmates walked out.

Once the classroom cleared, Snape silently retreated to his desk and retrieved a sealed envelope that he then held out to Harry—he continued sorting through the papers on his desk as though looking for the envelope had made him realize there were actually other papers there and they were important.

Harry stared blankly at it for a long while; he could see his name scribbled on the outside in Snape's compact, flourished writing. After a few seconds Snape, paying Harry no attention, snapped his wrist as he did when drawing his wand which caused the envelope to make a cracking noise that prompted Harry to jerk forward and take it from Snape's green-blue tinged fingers.

"I expect to hear nothing else on this matter, Potter," Snape declared and the threat of what would happen if Harry did bring it up again hung heavily in the air, and since Harry didn't plan on speaking to Snape again anytime soon that wouldn't be a problem. It was also needlessly stated that Harry didn't even know what the envelope contained. It wasn't even like he'd been bothering Snape about something to begin with.

Snape waved his hand in a clear dismissal and Harry quickly darted to the door, but not fast enough.

"Detention tonight for your abysmal performance in class today."

Of course.

Out in the hallway, Harry's curiosity got the better of him and he leaned against the wall and tore open the envelope only to reveal the top of Hogsmeade permission slip. Brows furrowed, Harry pulled the slip out of the envelope…there at the bottom was something he'd never expected to see.

Uncle Vernon's signature.

How on earth had Snape done this? And he'd gone to Uncle Vernon rather than sign the form himself? Harry imagined that went over very well, probably as well as when Harry's first Hogwarts letters began showing up.

Of course, Snape was not exactly a pushover and even Dumbedore didn't seem to want to get on Snape's bad side. Harry recalled the conversation he'd overheard between Snape and Dumbledore on Halloween, in which Dumbeldore had ended up deferring to the potions master even if he hadn't quite given in.

An angry Snape seemed capable of anything.

Which reminded Harry he was right outside of the potions classroom and Snape couldn't stay in there forever…

Harry shoved the letter in his bag and quickly darted off.

* * *

><p>"Glad I found you guys," Harry gasped as he joined Hermione and Ron at their usual spot in the common room, "you'll never believe what happened!"<p>

"What?" Ron asked looking excited—he could probably tell it was good news; Harry's cheeks were hurting from smiling so much. Not even the fact that Snape had been involved could dampen his mood.

"Well, go on, spill it!" Hermione demanded, "Tell us!"

Rather than tell them, Harry fished the envelope from his book bag and held it out to them. Hermione gave him a suspicious look, but snatched the envelope from his hand and pulled the permission slip out.

"Good one, mate!" Ron exclaimed happily, and he took the slip from Hermione as if to verify its validity.

"This is so exciting!" Hermione whispered and her cheeks were a bit flushed from her happiness. She smiling from ear to ear, "I wonder what changed their mind?"

Snape, obviously.

Course Harry couldn't very well say that so he shrugged and let his book-bag fall to the floor as he suggested, "Maybe the Dursleys had a change of heart? Or more likely they didn't want even want to spare one pound on me this year."

Hermione looked a bit troubled at Harry's admission and Ron cleared his throat and shifted his eyes so that he was looking at the wall, and Harry realized that he'd probably just shared more about life with the Dursleys in that one sentence than he had in the past three years combined. Even though last year, Ron and his brother had broken him out of his room—they'd never really spoken about what went on while Harry was at Privet Drive.

This was…extremely embarrassing really. Harry felt as if he'd just revealed to Ron and Hermione that he wet the bed or something, but honestly he shouldn't feel embarrassed—the way the Dursleys were had nothing to do with him!

"Just need to turn it in to McGonagall," Harry finished weakly, his voice wavering and going a bit high pitched at the same time. He sounded a bit like a deflating balloon.

Hermione cleared her throat and looked around nervously; she almost managed to look like a meercat with how alert and unsure she looked.

"We'll get to show you all the fun things there are in Hogsmeade," Hermione said and she attempted to sound bright and cheerful, but fell a bit short, "and we can all do our Christmas shopping there! I've got several books picked out, and you can show us what you'd like, Harry!"

"That'll be great," Harry replied, sincerely.

"And we can get twice as many things from Zonko's this time," Ron exclaimed, "since you'll be there to carry things too—"

"Everything in that store is on the restricted items list," Hermione groaned, "Harry, tell him you won't; tell him you've had enough detentions this year!"

"Yeah, but those detentions are different," Harry countered petulantly.

"Completely different, Hermione," Ron agreed easily, "we've been right angels this year."

"Perfect angels," Harry repeated with a nod.

It was clear that Hermione was so taken aback by what they were saying that she couldn't even think of a proper retort. This became even clearer when, in an angry huff, she chucked her ink pot at them.

And that ink was some persistent stuff; Harry would find he still hadn't gotten all of it off when the weekend rolled around.

* * *

><p>That evening Harry made his way down to the potions classroom for the detention that Snape assigned him in class. Harry slowly eased his way, as quietly as possible, into the classroom dread filling him. The door squeaked suddenly and Snape turned to glare at Harry before stalking over to him. Fearfully, Harry shuffled fully inside the classroom and waited.<p>

"You seem to be lacking in proper motivation to succeed in class," Snape declared finally, his tone the same as a judge's would be upon delivering a verdict.

"Excuse me, sir?" Harry said, shocked. His eyes darting around the room before finally looking at Snape's angry face.

"Apparently, the distinct lack of one-on-one attention is damaging to your classroom performance," Snape said derisively and Harry grimaced deeply. "Is that the problem, Potter? I don't pay enough attention to your celebrity?"

"No sir," Harry replied rage welling up within him, and he had to force the words out from between his clenched teeth.

Snape glared down at Harry before demanding, "Then what seems to be the problem, Potter? Why do even the most simple of potions seem to evade your equally simple intelligence?"

"You'll have to use smaller words, Professor," Harry retorted, "I'm afraid, like your lessons, this conversation is going a bit over my head."

Snape didn't look even remotely impressed, "Ten points for impertinence, Potter."

Harry would show him impertinence, "That's all?"

Oddly, Snape didn't rise to the bait and instead said, "You're to brew the the hair removal potion we covered in class today until you make it correctly. Once that's done, you're to write 10 inches on how you finally succeeded."

Harry gaped; the potion they'd been brewing in class was _not_ as simple as Snape made it out to be. In fact, it took the entire two-hour class period! Not to mention the fact that it was in a chapter that they hadn't even covered yet! Harry could very well be here all night!

"I suggest you get started," Snape said, a cruel smile cutting across his harshly-featured face, "I'm sure you don't wish to be here when my first class arrives tomorrow morning."

This was so unfair.

Harry really wished it was sixth year already so he could stop having to take potions.

Harry stormed over to the desk and Snape silently made his way to his desk at the front of the classroom, presumably to mark papers, it was then that Harry realized he didn't have his book…and thus had no way of brewing the potion correctly.

Harry bit his lip heavily as he debated how best to bring this up to Snape, and he finally said, "Sir, I don't have my book…"

Snape smirked, and Harry knew that this wasn't going to end well, and then he offered, "I'll let you use the book tonight, but by the end of the week, you'd best be able to produce the potion from memory."

Harry's mouth twitched uncontrollably until it finally settled into a deep frown, but it wasn't as though he really had no choice at this point so he agreed, "Yes, sir."

Feeling defeated Harry plucked the book that Snape hovered over to him out of the air and realized what Snape said, by the end of the week he had to have the potion memorized. This was clearly code for "A week's detention, Potter!" Shoulders slumped; Harry frowned as he read over the recipe which he vaguely remembered from class earlier that day.

Detentions, Snape had said, were to make certain actions unattractive through unpleasant and repetitive tasks…So Snape was trying to make him annoyed with potions?

Because that definitely made sense, Harry scoffed.

There was surely a reason for this detention though, Snape didn't act without a reason—he was a sly creature, operating on multisyllabic words and lengthy plots. He was a subtle animal, like a black panther, prone to hiding in shadows and thriving off destroying the weak.

"Daydreaming will only prolong your detention, Potter!"

Harry immediately began setting up his potion; it would be best to get it correct first—or rather second—try, so that he could then write the paper and be back in the tower by midnight. He could do this, he'd brewed correct potions before, and he'd written papers without help before.

Harry set the base on the fire to boil, and as he waited he realized there was nothing keeping him from writing the paper _as_ he worked. It was then Harry realized he didn't have parchment or a quill either.

Slowly, and with a horrible lump in his throat, Harry looked up to Snape's desk. The man had clearly been waiting for Harry's realization and he motioned to the corner of his desk where a grey quill-the exact shade of the prison garb Sirius Black wore in the pictures. Under the quill lay some parchment, and Snape was clearly waiting for Harry to come retrieve them.

"Another five points, Potter. It's needlessly stated that from now on you will come to detentions prepared," Snape declared and Harry was sure he could detect smugness in the man's tone.

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed despondently as he plodded to the front of the classroom. It seemed he'd have to bring his entire trunk with him next time if he wanted to escape Snape's wrath.

Upon his return to his station, the base was already boiling and Harry rushed to find the next step, only to realize that the next ingredient required extra preparations before he could use it. Harry recalled having the same problem in class, and he groaned as he watched the base turn black. He knew he could still add the next ingredient, but that it would lead to him being in detention again…just as it had in class earlier.

Harry didn't need a time machine to know that he was simply repeating himself.

Harry jotted down on the parchment: "Prepare all ingredients before beginning the potion."

Maybe this essay wouldn't be so hard, at the rate he was going all Harry would have to do is write down how he corrected his own stupid mistakes.

* * *

><p>"You look disgusting," Hermione declared with a grimace, as she looked Harry over before he sat down next to her for breakfast. "Did you bathe?"<p>

"Course not," Harry said around a yawn as he reached for some toast, "got back in the tower at midnight."

"Why were you so late getting back?" Hermione demanded, "And why are you such a mess?"

Harry tried to look nonchalant-he definitely wanted unaffected and not innocent. He did _not_ want to look innocent. Looking innocent was suspicious and would make people want to know why he acting strangely.

He had to carefully school his face so as to avoid suspicion.

Harry channeled his full attention to controlling his facial expression-

"…and why are we down seventy-five points?"

It appeared Harry needed to improve his poker face.

"I think I may have assaulted Snape," Harry commented thoughtfully. Then he turned to Hermione for verification, "Throwing a cauldron full of a hot potion at someone qualifies as assault, right?"

Hermione stared at Harry in disbelief.

Harry figured it was safe to assume that counted as a "yes."

"It's okay," Harry reassured her, "Snape used some kind of shield and sent it flying back at me. He's totally fine."

Hermione didn't seem to understand that it was a good thing.

"No, it's cool, since he blocked it he only took forty points," Harry explained further, "and then since I cleaned it without being told to, I got us five points."

Hermione seemed to be unable to figure this out. Harry now understood why Ron was always so eager to take advantage of Hermione's lapses in knowledge…there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that you were confusing one of the smartest witches in the school.

"Hermione," Harry said as slowly and as loudly as he could, "Snape gave _me_ five points. That means he wasn't even angry, he might have even thought it was funny that I got covered in hair removal potion."

"But you have hair," Hermione countered suspiciously. "And that doesn't explain where you lost the other twenty-five points."

"Right, because then Snape made me brew the hair regrowth potion," Harry explained, "and I accidentally made it too potent. So I made the floor of the dungeons sprout hair, and it took Snape and Flitwick an hour to find me and another thirty minutes to correct the damage. Snape was livid—"

"Of course."

"—so he took fifty points for all the damage I caused to the school and because he was sure I did it on purpose. Flitwick gave me twenty-five points for not setting anything on fire."

"And you have detention for the rest of the week," Ron finished looking a bit proud that he'd figured out the ending before Harry had gotten to it.

"Well," Harry clarified, the words coming out slowly due to embarrassment, "I had that before any of this happened."


	20. Catastrophic Brain Damage

_Many thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm glad you liked the last chapter!_

**Chapter Twenty: Catastrophic Brain Damage**

Harry waited patiently for Snape to finish reading through the essay he'd been forced to write after the events of his last detention. He'd actually had a difficult time cutting it down to the length that Snape had assigned because Harry had messed up so many things in the two potions.

This was much easier than actual class.

If class was like this, Harry could make the same grades as Hermione with half the effort.

"You're quite detailed in your assessment of your failures in brewing the potions correctly," Snape commented finally, "you may not use your book tonight, complete _both_ the hair removal and regrowth potions using only these notes."

Harry appeared to have spoken too soon.

He also appeared to have made a mistake in cutting down the length of the essay.

Snape held the essay out to Harry who accepted the parchment despondently. Harry quickly tried to remember all the things he'd removed from the essay, and wondered if he could jot them down without Snape noticing and getting in a tizzy over it.

Probably not.

Fighting down a groan, Harry retrieved the ingredients—hoping he could remember all of them and how to prepare them. Harry was beginning to think that maybe he shouldn't rely solely on Hermione for scraping a passing grade in potions—but this wasn't class Harry reminded himself firmly. This was detention, and all that mattered was that he carry out the task assigned or he'd get…more detentions…

Unpleasant and repetitive…right.

Harry frowned down at the ingredients he'd gathered from the storeroom…something was missing. Harry turned and strode back into the storeroom to see if he could recognize it on sight.

Harry examined every ingredient with a critical eye, he was missing something and it was in here. He'd have to know it if he saw it, he'd brewed one of these potions twice before. After a while, Harry plucked a senna fruit from its basket and returned to his work station, warily glancing at Snape as he hurried past.

Snape merely raised an eyebrow at Harry and waited for him to begin brewing.

Harry began slicing whatever flower he had and Snape picked up his quill and began marking papers.

Harry's mind was racing as he looked over all the ingredients he'd gathered. He wondered how he'd ever remember what to do to them or what order to add them in…his essay wasn't nearly as detailed as he'd remembered making it.

Was this Snape's way of saying, "I hate you no matter what anyone says and also, maybe, it wouldn't kill you to write more detailed essays?"

Well-played Snape. Well-played.

At least Harry had noted which colors the potion was supposed to turn and which ones it wasn't supposed to turn. That way he'd at least know when to keep going and when to dump it and start over.

This was going to be a long, painful night.

Probably payback for the long, amusing night that Harry'd had the night before.

* * *

><p>"Day two with no bath?" Seamus teased as Harry rolled out of his bed, wearing the same robes he'd had on the night before.<p>

"I took one before detention yesterday" Harry muttered, "Aren't you late?"

"Not as late as you'll be," Seamus replied cheerfully, "and that's all that really matters, right?"

"Lupin won't mind," Harry replied, and he roughly ran his hands through his hair—he probably looked like he'd been held prisoner for two days…which wasn't far from the truth.

"I dunno," Seamus replied lightly, "I feel like the Professor has a dark side that we don't know anything about! He's too nice, you know?"

A cold lump settled in Harry's empty stomach at Seamus' teasing words. He probably didn't know anything about the secret Lupin was harboring, but that didn't mean that his words might not make someone more curious.

"Nah," Harry replied and it took some effort to keep anxiety from leaking into his voice, "I think we're just used to teachers who have been here so long they've lost all their patience."

"Used it all up on Fred and George," Seamus agreed sagely, his eyes were narrowed thoughtfully as he slowly nodded his head. "I see what you're getting at, Potter."

Then Seamus threw his tie around his neck, grabbed his vest and robes, and grinned at Harry.

"See you in class," Seamus declared as he headed to the door, his voice full of playful challenge.

Harry patted his hair and frowned down at his wrinkled clothing from the day before. Fortunately, they weren't grimy today, but they certainly wouldn't pass for…well, passable. He didn't really have time for anything else, though, he was already behind and Seamus was right, Harry couldn't be too much later and get away with it. No matter how kind and patient Lupin was.

Growling, Harry snatched up his school bag, which was unfortunately still full of anything he may need in order to perform successfully in one of Snape's detentions. There was no time to trade them out Harry reminded himself, he had to leave now.

He took off at a run, and when the thought crossed his mind he pulled a bit on his clothes to try and smooth the wrinkles out, but it was probably of no use.

After a long, mad dash through the school Harry entered the defense classroom at full speed and stumbled to a halt, he was deeply out of breath and he'd never before noticed how small and intimate the defense classroom was until now, when he was hard pressed to find an empty seat. He needn't have worried about it because in the second he took to find an empty seat all his classmates saw his appearance and began snickering about it and Professor Lupin cleared his throat to draw Harry's attention. Lupin had the appearance of someone trying to imitate McGonagall's sternness, and had about as much success as Hermione did most of the time.

"Mr. Potter," Lupin said softly and the barest hint of a laugh managed to color his words, "may I have a word with you in the hallway?"

Harry stood up and yanked at his robes a bit to try and force some wrinkles out and tried to act as confident as he possibly could while the whole class watched him walk out, laughing about his appearance.

Harry went out into the hallway and dodged out of view of the doorway, standing near the wall so none of his classmates could see him awkwardly waiting for Lupin to join him. Harry raked a hand through his hair and was sure that doing so would only make his hair look worse. The door closed with a click behind him and Harry turned, bracing himself for whatever Lupin was likely to say…he'd be nice about it, but it would still be ungodly embarrassing.

Lupin had his arms crossed and was taking a very obvious assessment of Harry's appearance. The professor's eyes were sparkling in clear amusement, and his face held the grin that he only seemed willing to show in private. It made him look younger, less sickly, and to a degree…like Fred and George?

"Might I recommend a bit of light reading?" Lupin asked genially, "_Simple Tidiness for the Inept Bachelor_ has spells for vanishing odors, removing wrinkles, cleaning teeth—"

Harry ducked his head and fell against the wall with an embarrassed groan and Lupin let out an unguarded burst of laughter which was so out of character that it nearly startled Harry into slamming his head against the wall.

"I mean, I would understand if you're hoping to get Snape in trouble for having his detentions go too late—"

"You can do that?" Harry demanded and he jerked his head up in surprise, "I can report him?"

"I wouldn't want to see how he'd retaliate," Lupin warned Harry quickly, holding his hands out as if Harry was running down the hallway and he sought to catch or stop him. "There's no telling what he'd do…but I'm wondering what's been going on to keep you up so late…"

Harry rolled his eyes and looked up at Lupin with a sigh, "He's having me re-brew this one potion I messed up in class and write papers on what I did wrong, I have to have it memorized by the end of the week." Harry groaned and looked down at his hands as if he could see the potion ingredients lingering on his hands, "Last night he made me brew it using only my papers as a guide."

"That's…harsh," Lupin concluded tilting his head as if he was a dog that could pick up on some distant sound and glancing at the door to the classroom as if he could see through it. Then he took two steps to the door and yanked it open before calling in, "Mr. Finnegan don't give me that look, I know exactly what you were doing! Five points from Gryffindor—do behave!"

Harry supposed that settled the matter of whether or not werewolves had enhanced senses.

Lupin closed the door and then rolled his eyes with a soft smile, "Listen, Harry, I'm going to dismiss you from class because you've broken dress code—consider this your verbal warning and your punishment is to go get cleaned up and find that book I recommended in the library. I'm sure Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley can catch you up, or I could if you can manage to find some free time," Lupin cast a dubious, but amused look over Harry's appearance.

Harry nodded, feeling as though his cheeks were liable to burst into flame out of embarrassment.

"And perhaps we can think of a way to approach Snape regarding your detentions—a way that would prevent retaliation," Lupin added with a smile before turning back to the classroom door, immediately beginning to chide Seamus and Ron for misbehaving.

Harry groaned and leaned against the wall feeling more embarrassed than he had in a while.

Wait a minute…

"Dress code?"

* * *

><p>"Technically, I was in uniform!"<p>

"It's more of a code of appearance conduct," Hermione giggled as she flipped through _Simple Tidiness for the Inept Bachelor_, "It's actually very precise. Oh, here's one on how to keep food from sticking to your face, _Ronald_."

Ron glared at Hermione and took a huge bite of his chicken—it was impossible to tell if he had intended to smear the seasonings all over his face or if it was simply how he ate.

Harry frowned down at his own chicken in confusion, "But how have I never noticed before?"

Hermione gave Harry such an intense look of disbelief that Harry began to doubt his own existence.

So apparently Harry was just completely unobservant up to the point where it was obvious that he didn't even observe himself. It was a wonder that Harry was able to pick up that inference from only Hermione's facial expression considering that was the case…but he wasn't in the mood to admit that to Hermione's face.

"Right, I'll just assume that everything changes constantly behind my back then," Harry sighed as he ripped a dinner roll in half.

"You just never pay attention," Hermione retorted, "I could have told you anytime, or you could have found out on your own—all the rules and regulations were included in your Hogwarts letter—"

Harry remembered how thick that first envelope had seemed, when he picked it up and hadn't thought to hide it from the Dursleys. However, he could only remember there being a supply list along with the letter when he'd finally gotten to read it.

"—and I can understand why you wouldn't read the student handbook or _Hogwarts, A History_—"

"What?!" Ron spat out his food and it flew across the table to land on Neville's face, "Did you just say what I thought you said?!"

Neville sighed as he reached for his napkin and muttered, "Why does this _always_ happen to me?"

"—but you didn't even read your whole Hogwarts letter?"

Apparently Harry hadn't gotten his whole Hogwarts letter…but nonetheless, "Student handbook?"

"Right," Hermione agreed, nodding so hard that her hair bounced and looked like it floated weightless for a second, "You can get a copy from McGonagall."

That would look very good; maybe get her to forget a little bit about the holly thing. Harry decided he needed one of these handbooks as soon as possible, even if he didn't intend to read it.

"She has office hours today, right?" Harry asked and even though this whole conversation had been annoying and embarrassing, it was worth it just to see the looks of disbelief on Ron and Hermione's faces.

* * *

><p>"Please tell me you aren't going to read that thing," Ron groaned. He looked a bit frightened of what would happen if Harry did actually read the handbook, and was staring down at the small booklet as if it was Pandora's Box and would somehow unleash upon Harry all the desires for academia that would be necessary to turn him into a second Hermione.<p>

Harry glanced back down the hall to make sure that McGonagall hadn't left her office after them and replied, "Hadn't planned on it."

Ron looked at Harry as if he were a chess board and was trying to figure out what would be the best play, "Just trying to get back on everyone's good side?"

Harry nodded and shrugged in agreement, "Pretty much…damage control, you know."

"Yeah," Ron said nodding, but he looked as though he didn't really need Harry's answer or explanation to know it was true, "do you still have detention with Snape tonight?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed, "last one of term."

"Honestly," Ron sighed, "I'm getting to the point where I'd rather have detention with Snape than listen to Hermione complain while you're gone."

* * *

><p>That last detention hadn't been different from the others, and even progressed as one would assume following the prior detention. This meant Harry had to brew the potion solely from memory, without even his essays for guidance…but that didn't prepare him for this…<p>

Nothing could prepare him for this.

This wasn't real life.

Swallowing, Harry trailed his fingers gently across the parchment the quiz was printed on in disbelief; it had to be a hallucination. Some kind of residual brain damage from the quidditch game that was only now showing up…

This couldn't be real. There was no way this quiz was real.

Snape had told him—

Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply in through his nose trying to make sense of everything.

—to have the potion memorized—

Harry felt like he was going to hyperventilate, he was already lightheaded and confused. His brain was just swelling from the fall, that's all, when he opened his eyes the quiz would be over something else.

—by the end of the week.

It was Friday, Harry reminded himself, hoping to clear his brain with facts. It was their last class before the end of term and Snape had given them a pop quiz over the potion that they'd brewed in class on Monday.

Harry opened his eyes and the parchment was still there and Harry still knew all the answers to the questions…because of the detentions Snape had given him—the detentions where Harry had been brewing this potion.

Snape couldn't do this, there had to be laws against this.

Favoritism or something? Right?

No one would ever believe that.

Harry bit his lip and wondered if it was test of some sort, if Snape would turn him in for cheating—no one would believe that Snape had _told_ him all the answers to the quiz and even, in his own Snape-ish way, told him the date of it.

Harry reached for his quill and desperately tried to figure out what to do, did he fail the test on purpose? This option had the added bonus of spiting Snape; he'd done well on the essays assigned as punishment, so it would make Snape doubly enraged to have Harry fail the quiz.

Or did he put the correct answers to every question? This had the added bonus of pissing Snape off due to the fact that Harry _could_ have done well in class with the proper incentives, not to mention Snape would be forced to give him a good grade.

Or did he go for a nice mid-range grade? This had the added bonus of making sense, and not causing Harry further mental upset. If Harry had studied the potion, but not been forced to learn every integral detail of it, then Harry would probably make an Acceptable. Not only that, but Snape would be incredibly enraged that Harry had only learned things partially.

And that was acceptable…but as Harry began to force himself to write down incorrect answers; he found it difficult to do. He knew the answers because he'd worked damn hard to figure this potion out. He _deserved_ an Outstanding.

Harry smushed his quill against the parchment, and watched as a massive inkblot overtook the incorrect answer he'd begun to write.

How about…he'd write the correct answer, but he'd strategically misspell things so that Snape would end up taking points, but Harry would have everything else correct.

This had the added benefit of making Snape's eye twitch from the minor errors as he graded the paper.

Yes, that definitely seemed like the best course of action. Harry slowly worked his way through the quiz, carefully misspelling certain words but not past the point where they wouldn't be recognizable.

Harry finally completed the quiz and nearly stood up to turn it in so that he could get out of the room as quickly as possible…until his eyes fell upon Hermione who was anxiously biting her nails as she read over her answers.

Harry would have a really difficult time explaining to her why he'd finished the quiz before her…it may even be so difficult that Harry might have to tell her the truth about the detentions…and then maybe even the truth that had led to the _other_ detentions…and then Ron would have to know too.

Then there was Malfoy—if Harry finished before Malfoy then the little twit may decide to stick his pointy face where it didn't belong. Malfoy couldn't be trusted to know _anything_ about Harry's life—especially not things that involved Harry's detentions with Snape. And that really included all the Slytherins really, there wasn't anything overly special about Malfoy—all Slytherins couldn't be trusted, not even a little.

In fact, no one could be trusted…Harry couldn't let anyone get suspicious because frankly this whole quiz situation _was_ extremely suspicious.

It appeared Harry would have to settle in and wait for everyone else in the class to finish.

He was going to be here a long time.

* * *

><p>Neville hurried out as fast as he possibly could, leaving only Harry. He stood up, grabbed his quiz, and went to deposit it on Snape's desk—Snape was already marking them and it seemed that Harry would escape without notice if everything went well.<p>

Of course, this was Harry and Snape, so nothing ever went well.

As soon as Harry set his quiz down on the desk, Snape, without looking growled out, "Potter."

It sounded more like a warning than anything else, really. The tone clearly implied that Harry should stay in the classroom while Snape looked over his quiz or prepare for imminent death.

Harry wasn't sure why Snape seemed to think there was a difference.

Snape raised his eyes from the quiz he was marking to take hold of Harry's, all the while the professor gazed dispassionately at Harry until he began to squirm. Then and only then did Snape lower his head and began marking Harry's quiz. Harry was incredibly pleased when Snape's eyes began twitching two seconds into his reading and grew steadily worse as the professor realized that the quiz was, in fact, completely riddled with asinine spelling errors.

"Did you suffer catastrophic brain damage in the last twelve hours, Potter?"

That was debatable.

...Harry was still trying to decide if this was a hallucination or not.

"Depends," Harry replied with a shrug, "do you think it would make a discernible difference in my intelligence?"

Snape looked as though he wanted to congratulate Harry on his self-degradation abilities, but just barely managed to refrain, "You have fifteen minutes to reacquaint yourself with a dictionary or I'll give you detention for the entirely of next term for your little act of defiance."

Harry quickly plucked his paper from Snape's hands and returned to his seat to scribble out each misspelled word and replace it with the proper one.

Why had Harry misspelled so many words? This was surely going to take more than fifteen minutes! Harry should really have figured out by now to not cross Snape…maybe he really was a massive idiot?

Harry could feel Snape's eyes on him the entire time as he rushed through and made as many corrections as he possibly could before running the quiz back up to Snape who immediately began re-marking it.

Finally, Snape laid his quill down and declared the verdict:

"Detention until January thirty-first."

Snape dipped his quill in red ink before circling the words of a spell that was recited to stabilize the potion, and above it he correctly spelled the word out, "I suggest you brush up on your Latin if you want to be a wizard when you grow up."

At least it was two weeks he would be forced to spend with Snape, rather than the entire term.

Speaking of terms…Harry inhaled deeply, and even though the dungeons were musky and the potions classrooms reeked of dead things and rotten, fermented roots it was the sweetest breath of air he'd had in a while.

It was the first free breath he'd had in months.

Snape couldn't assign detentions during Christmas break.

Harry nearly skipped from the classroom.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	21. Snape Would be There

This is a _very_ long chapter, and I hope it doesn't come across as unnecessarily wordy...anyways, enjoy! And _many thanks to everyone that reviewed the last chapter-always great to hear your opinions and thoughts :D__  
><em>

**Chapter Twenty-One: Snape Would be There**

Harry was self-consciously rubbing one of the black spots left by Hermione's ink, as he stood with everyone else—waiting to be allowed through the gates and escorted past the dementors.

It was also clear why Snape had gotten his permission form signed even though the professor was so concerned about Black murdering him. He was one of the chaperones and would be easily able to keep an eye on Harry.

Harry ducked his head as Snape swept by them, carefully counting each student to make sure that everyone came back at the end of the day.

"Feels like we're in prison," Harry muttered to Hermione, and Snape's head snapped over to glare at Harry.

"I know," Hermione murmured back. Snape's eyes remained glued to the two of them, and Harry had to remind himself that there was no way that Snape could hear anything they were saying.

"Have you figured out what he did when he made me look in his eyes?" Harry asked her, and realized with a jolt of fright that he was looking in Snape's eyes right now, and quickly averted his gaze.

"Not yet," Hermione replied, "I'm hoping that I'll figure it out soon."

"Hey look!" Ron interjected gleefully and he huffed out a huge gasp of warm breath, visible due to the cold. Instead turning into a soft cloud before disappearing, the breath swirled around in a circle. Using Ron as an excuse, Harry quickly ducked out of Snape's direct line of sight and turned his back to the man for good measure. Hermione sagely watched Harry for a moment but said nothing and didn't move from Snape's sight; instead she decided to explain why Ron's breath was doing what it was:

"There must be enough salvia in our breath to allow the circle spell to remain active," Hermione said with a smile and then she too breathed out a circular swirl of breath. "You try Harry!"

Harry did and his achieved the same result, "Hopefully Pavarti doesn't notice and ruin the whole thing."

"Oh, please, she's frightfully dense," Hermione huffed, "sometimes I think I'm the smartest person here."

"I would hope that's the case," Ron retorted, "since you're first in our class."

Hermione looked a little embarrassed at the praise and murmured something softly that Harry couldn't quite catch, so he decided to change the subject.

"So where are you guys going to take me first?"

"Zonko's," Ron replied at once, "it's pretty much the best place in town—"

"And we have to go to the Three Broomsticks so you can try butterbeer," Hermione added, "but first I want to stop by the bookstore, and I need to do a little Christmas shopping, if you two don't mind."

"I've got to get some gifts too," Harry said, feeling a bit excited, "I've never been Christmas shopping before."

"It's not nearly as fun as opening presents on Christmas," Ron replied, waving his hand, "you haven't missed anything."

"Now, that's not entirely true," Hermione chided, "I rather like buying gifts, you get to think about all your favorite people and how you can make them happy."

"Does that mean I'm not getting a gift from you this year?" Ron asked Hermione teasingly, "if you only buy things for your favorite people."

"Oh, hush you!" Hermione scolded, "I suppose I can return your gift if you really want me to."

Ron perked up a bit and grinned, pleased that Hermione had already bought him something.

"When are we going to be allowed through?" Harry asked impatiently, "I feel like we've been standing out here in the cold forever."

"Oh, and you said you wanted some gloves, right, Harry?" Hermione asked, "We should stop somewhere so you can get some."

"I've never had gloves before either," Harry said with a smile, this was turning out to be a rather good Christmas in spite of everything. Harry was going to enjoy his trip to Hogsmeade with his friends, and then they were all going to have Christmas together…Actually, now that Harry thought about it, maybe he should think of Ron and Hermione as his family. He did think of them almost as if they were his brother and sister, and they even fought and argued as often as siblings seemed to do. Yes, they were pretty much his family anyways; he spent all his time with them, and even saw them over the holidays. They shared everything and were always there when needed.

Finally the line moved and Harry, Ron and Hermione were part of the next group to be escorted into town…unfortunately, Snape was the one escorting them.

Harry kept his head down, and stuck very close to Ron and Hermione, Snape was taking his opportunity as chaperone to forcefully remind everyone of the rules: the strict boundaries where the students were to remain within, the time at which they were to return, and that they were to never leave a professor's sight or Snape would see to it that they would never be allowed in Hogsmeade ever again.

Harry knew that if he raised his head for one moment during this entire spiel that he'd see Snape's gaze firmly locked on him. This entire speech was simply to remind Harry that he'd best behave or he'd be locked in Snape's dungeon to never see the light of day again.

Harry glanced up at Ron and noticed that Ron was looking at Harry strangely, and Harry supposed that he was acting a bit strange. It wasn't like Harry to be cowed by Snape, no matter the circumstances, so Harry decided he'd best do something to lighten the mood before Ron became truly concerned.

"You'll notice that Snape's out in broad daylight," Harry hissed to Ron, "looks like your vampire theory is down the drain."

"It's cloudy," Ron whispered back, "and I'm telling you he has some kind of special sunblock."

"Snape can't be a vampire, because they're so overcome with bloodlust that their brain burns out and they become horrific killing machines," Hermione softly declared, "so just give it up Ron."

Her words coincided with their passage through a part of the forest which had become grey and darkened, the leaf-less trees dead and gnarled…Harry could feel in his bones that this was where the dementors lay in wait for Sirius Black. The chill in the air increased and Harry remembered Ron's words—that the dementors liked him.

Harry huddled down into his thick winter robes shivering, feeling uneasy—wondering if the dementors would be able to sense him.

But the dementors never came and before long they were safely in Hogsmeade where Snape dismissed with one last warning, pointedly directed at Harry if one knew what to listen for.

Ron and Hermione grabbed Harry and pulled him into town, talking excitedly about everything they had to do.

"I definitely want to go to the bookstore first," Hermione declared cheerfully.

"Then me and Harry will go to Zonko's!" Ron decided, "That way you don't have to go in with us."

Hermione really seemed like she wanted to lecture them, once more on all the reasons they shouldn't shop there, but decided not to.

"All right," She agreed with a sigh, "and then we can meet in Honeydukes!"

"Perfect!" Ron chirruped, and turned to grin at Harry, "well, what are we waiting for!"

Ron led Harry through town, pointing out all the shops that were best, and he paused to point down a long and winding street to say, "Down there is the shrieking shack, it's nothing special really…mostly just kind of boring."

They continued on their way to Zonko's when something caught Harry's eye, he paused and squinted as he thought saw a black shadow moving in an alley. It was a little too short to be a dementor, but that didn't mean it wasn't something else…like the big black dog.

"What are you doing, mate?" Ron demanded, grabbing Harry's arm, "we've only got a few hours, you know!"

Harry stuttered out a bit of nonsense as he was dragged away, he could now see that there was no dog in the alley and he was likely becoming paranoid…probably due to some genetic mental disorder.

"We have to leave like an hour before sundown," Ron continued further, "because," he cleared his throat and nodded towards a sign that was posted, "the dementors start patrolling at night."

Harry frowned and remembered seeing the dog had preceded the dementors' attack during the quidditch game and unbidden, his eyes drifted back to the alley where he'd seen a shadow, only to see a stumpy little orange creature slink out of the alley. Harry swallowed hard, the feeling almost painful, as he realized that it hadn't been a kneazle he'd seen with the big black dog:

"Crookshanks," Harry gasped and pointed to the cat. He couldn't believe that Crookshanks was the orange creature he'd been seeing with the big black dog…Harry wondered if he should tell Ron. Though Ron might be able to figure it out on his own.

Ron looked incredibly confused before he saw Crookshanks as well and his mouth gaped open. The stumpy cat didn't seem to notice them and continued on his way down the winding street Ron had pointed out earlier. The street led to the shrieking shack.

"Think we should try to catch him?" Harry asked, feeling a bit unsure.

Ron laughed a bit and replied, "Nah, besides, looks like this isn't the first time he's been here."

"Wait till Hermione hears about this," Harry said with a laugh, and Ron began snickering as well. "Wonder what she'll do…"

"No telling," Ron replied, "all I know is that we should get to Zonko's before all the good stuff is gone."

"Right," Harry agreed easily, and he dutifully followed behind Ron. Hermione met them there, and Harry figured that'd they would have a few hours free of her, knowing how she was with books.

"They had all the same stuff," Hermione replied with a shrug, "except this," she hoisted a bag, "it's a book of Christmas stories, thought you and I could read them on Christmas Eve, Harry."

"What, you don't think I'd want to hear them?" Ron demanded, looking hurt, "Mum and dad would always read us stories about Christmas before I started at Hogwarts!"

Hermione flushed, looking a bit embarrassed, admitting, "Sometimes it's hard to tell what you do and don't like…sometimes you think things are childish because you already know about them…"

Ron's ears turned pink and he ducked his head whining, "But it's Christmas! It's okay to be a little childish."

"We'll all read them, then," Hermione told Ron with a smile and she hooked her arm through his. Then after a second, did the same to Harry, "Next we need to get Harry some gloves!"

Neither Ron or Hermione knew where to find them, so they went from window to window—gazing inside shops to see if they had any winter gear.

"Here!" Ron exclaimed, and he entered a tiny shop. Harry and Hermione followed in after him, several fourth year girls were huddled together discussing scarves in one corner, but Ron was studiously looking over a table in the center of the store.

"These look nice," Ron said, without specifying which gloves "these" were. Harry looked them over…most were gaudy and had strange attachments and Harry was sure he would likely never understand magical fashion. After long minutes of looking, Harry managed to locate a pair of plain Gryffindor red gloves and bought them.

"I'm freezing!" Hermione declared while Harry wiggled his hands inside his new gloves, "Let's get to the Three Broomsticks for some butterbeer!"

That turned out to be a good plan, and one that apparently didn't require Hermione to figure out. The warm pub was packed with students and locals alike, along with more Christmas decorations than could probably fit without magic.

"Quickly!" Hermione gasped pointing to a table that some sixth years were clearing from, and Ron shoved his way through the crowd to claim the table. Harry looked around the crowded room a bit blankly until Hermione suggested, "You go help him keep people from stealing the table and I'll order!"

Harry nodded and went to join Ron.

"Hermione fetching butterbeer?" Ron asked and Harry nodded in agreement.

"Wonder what it's like when the students aren't here," Harry commented, "How many people live in Hogsmeade anyways?"

Ron shrugged and replied, "Dunno, does it matter?"

"Guess not," Harry said with a shrug before another thought occurred to him: "Couldn't family come to visit students here?"

Ron's eyes widened, he looked a bit scared as if Mrs. Weasley were likely to pop out from behind him any second and begin wiping the leftover ink from his face, and he replied "Yeah, guess they could."

Harry nodded and looked around the pub with renewed interest, trying to see if there were in fact any parents visiting their children…everyone would be leaving for the holidays tomorrow, perhaps some parents would come to retrieve their children from here, rather than wait for them to arrive in London on the train. If they could even do that…Harry wasn't likely to find out the answer until he had children in Hogwarts.

Hermione arrived. She slipped in to sit next to Harry and she smiled, saying, "They'll be along in just a second—so what do you think, Harry?"

"S'nice to get away from school," Harry replied, "I'm glad the Dursleys changed their mind—a bit like being in Diagon Alley again."

Hermione beamed and it was clear she was pleased that Harry was having fun, and then their drinks arrived.

Several minutes later, the door to the pub blew open and McGonagall strode in. She scanned the room for a moment, probably looking for a table, and then stood aside so that Professor Flitwick, Hagrid, and…Minister Fudge could walk inside.

They talked to each other for a few minutes before heading directly towards the table that Harry, Ron and Hermione inhabited. Harry was forced to remind himself that he did have a right to be here, and that the teachers also needed a break from time to time. But that didn't stop him from ducking a bit so that they couldn't see him. Fortunately, he needn't have hidden; they were engrossed in each other's company and didn't even glance over at their table.

Hermione's eyebrows rose a bit as she looked at Ron and Harry with uncertainty, when the professors and the minister settled in at the table next to theirs.

"Should we leave?" Harry mouthed, nodding to the door.

Ron looked incredulous and held up his tankard, mouthing, "Butterbeer!"

Harry obediently reached for his own beverage, but didn't drink right away, just held it and the warmth of it slowly reached through his new gloves to warm his fingers the rest of the way. Hermione also reached for her butterbeer, and held it up to her lips, drinking it slowly.

It remained a bit unnerving, though, having three of his professors sitting so near—ones who knew him quite well: his head of house, his first friend, and the professor giving him private lessons.

They chatted about nothing in particular for a while, but it didn't take long before discussions turned to the dementors and then to Sirius Black. As Fudge was the one who decreed that the dementors patrol, they naturally tried to wheedle as much information out of the man as they could.

It didn't appear to be too difficult; Fudge seemed more than willing to be the center of attention.

"There's more to the story than was published," Fudge told his rapt audience who gasped in surprise, "it all has to do with his parents," Fudge paused and then said, "Harry mustn't learn about all of this, it would destroy him of course," Fudge said with a put-upon sigh, and everyone else at the table murmured agreements.

Harry froze and wondered just exactly what Fudge was going to say. Harry sank down further into his seat wondering if learning about Snape would be this thing that would "destroy" him.

Then Harry remembered Lupin and how easily the man had accepted the truth—was it possible that more people knew? Was it possible that he could tell certain people that he'd dreamed of his mother and Snape and they'd react with: "Yes, it would only make sense that Snape would be there."

Harry quickly nodded toward the door again, but Ron and Hermione both shook their heads firmly. They were staring at him as if they couldn't believe that Harry didn't want to hear this.

"Oh certainly," McGonagall agreed easily, "and here lately, it's become difficult to judge just how the lad will react to surprising or distressing news."

"Yes, I've heard of these strange outbursts," Fudge murmured thoughtfully, and Harry felt his heart thud when he realized there was wariness in Fudge's tone. He was worried about the damage that Harry could do…with good reason.

"They're mostly harmless, I believe," Flitwick squeaked, happily, "I've been instructing the boy and he's made excellent progress—I believe he was under a large amount of stress and began acting out."

"Understandable, understandable," Fudge said, and the wariness was gone, and Harry felt relief. After second year, he wasn't keen to have people fear him because of his abilities.

"But you were saying, Minister?"

Fudge cleared his throat as if he were beginning a speech.

"All of you taught Sirius Black so you're aware that he and James Potter were friends," Fudge began, and Harry felt no small amount of relief.

"Quite the understatement," McGonagall scoffed, "try inseparable—why the Potters even took the boy in when his family disowned him."

"Makes it even more difficult to believe that he could have turned dark," Hagrid sighed, sniffling as if he were about to begin crying.

"The story only gets worse, I'm afraid," Fudge continued dramatically as if he were telling a ghost story and not discussing another person's reality. "You know that the Potters went into hiding."

Unbidden, Harry couldn't help but wonder, where exactly did Snape fit into all this?

"Well, they used the fidelius charm—"

"No," McGonagall gasped horrified, "surely not!"

"But it's true," Fudge sighed, "Sirius Black was their secret keeper, which meant that _he_ single-handedly turned them over to the dark lord—signed his own best friends' death sentence! And more than that! Because Black and Potter were so close, Sirius was made Harry's godfather!"

Harry's ears rang, and he couldn't hear anything going on around him. It was becoming abundantly clear that he never should have wished to find out about his relatives, or anyone that could take him away from the Dursleys. Harry was definitely better off alone.

A murderer who killed his own parents for a godfather; a mostly-evil, former death eater for a father…There was no proof, Harry reminded himself, he had no proof that Snape was a death eater—it was just something that everyone said, because Snape was a god-awful human being.

Nonetheless, things were definitely not turning out how Harry had hoped they would three months ago.

But honestly, what exactly had been going on before and after Harry had been born?

And not only that, why was Harry not totally enraged by this information? Harry felt a bit ashamed to think that this was completely less distressing than many other things he'd found out this year. After all, Sirius Black wasn't nearly as real to him as Snape was, and Snape was a daily threat, unlike Black who seemed more like a character from one of Dudley's horror films than a real person. He'd been so worried that Fudge would talk about Snape that he'd completely forgotten about everything else that was going on.

Then there was Professor Lupin's voice echoing oddly in his head, reminding him that he'd lived twelve years without his parents, that he was his own person now. But there was also the fact that Harry _had_ lived twelve years with the Dursleys, they had raised him—perhaps some of their nastiness had rubbed on him, subconsciously?

And then there was Snape.

Why had Snape not been there to die, but James Potter had been? A niggling voice in the back of Harry's head supplied, _because he's a death eater_, _he and Black may have even been responsible for the attack_.

Disgusted, Harry frowned and stared down into his warm butterbeer, the smell of it was beginning to make him feel sick. He was wrought with guilt for not being angry, guilt for not wanting to kill Black, guilt for wanting to kill Snape, guilt for not wanting to kill the Dursleys. This whole story of everything that happened before he was born was turning into a twisted convoluted story of death and betrayal and it was getting to the point where Harry was deeply exhausted by it.

Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his face, he remembered the way Ron and Hermione had looked at him when he'd mentioned the Dursleys a few days ago, and the thought that the pity and shame and confusion on their faces would be twice what it had been then made Harry's stomach churn…violently.

He was going to throw up.

Harry grabbed his glasses, stood up and stormed out of the Three Broomsticks. The street was full of cheerful students and lively—literally alive—Christmas decorations. Feeling even worse, Harry turned to face the brick wall and heaved up his lunch, the candy he'd eaten with Ron, and the butterbeer he'd just bought.

Harry jerked off his glasses once more and pressed his face against the freezing brick wall. He was clammy and his cheek became adhered to the wall for a short moment, before his feverish skin warmed the brick.

"Mr. Potter, do you need to go to hospital wing?" McGonagall's stern voice had somehow gone soft, and Harry blearily opened one eye and could make out the black of her robes, and next to her was a red blob and brown blob—Ron and Hermione.

"I'm fine," Harry gasped, wiping the tears that had fallen while he'd vomited, "I just ate too many sweets."

He spat to try and clear the taste from his mouth. It didn't help and Harry replaced his glasses, he'd attracted a small crowd, and not just Hogwarts students—which was a bit humiliating. McGonagall looked stricken and like she wanted to say more, it was clear that she knew that Harry had overheard the conversation she'd been having. Ron and Hermione looked just as Harry had imagined they would.

It made him want to throw up again.

But there was nothing left.

He brushed past McGonagall, Ron, and Hermione and re-entered the pub.

There was nothing left; Harry was too exhausted to feel anything anymore.

* * *

><p>Harry hadn't remained in the Three Broomsticks much longer after that, Hagrid had come up to him crying, wanting to hug him and apologize and Harry had just stared at the half-giant and then ducked around him to grab his things. Harry didn't want to be around anyone anymore, he grabbed his bags and turned around to leave to find Ron and Hermione staring at him in deep concern.<p>

Harry walked past them, quickly, and once he was back outside he broke into a full jog. Stopping when he arrived at the edge of town, where Snape and another teacher were waiting.

"Heading back, Potter?" the other teacher asked and Harry nodded quickly.

"Come along then," Snape growled and he swept of towards the castle, Harry ran to catch up to the man. Of course, Snape would end up escorting him back to Hogwarts. Fortunately, Snape didn't say anything the whole walk back, and Harry was deeply relieved, there was no telling what would come out of his mouth if Snape said something.

Probably fire, lots and lots of fire.

Once on the grounds, Snape turned and headed back to Hogsmeade and Harry made the long trek up to the castle alone, but once inside he didn't remain alone for long.

"Been to Hogsmeade then?" Fred…or George asked curiously.

"Yes, I got my form signed," Harry replied, "bit of good luck, really."

Probably the only good luck he'd had since school began.

"Well, actually it's a bit unfortunate," George…or Fred sighed, "You see, we have a present for you—"

"An early Christmas present."

"Seems we waited too long to give it to you though," they sighed together. Harry stopped walking and dropped his bags so that he could figure out what the twins were up to.

"And what's that?" Harry asked, crossing his arms and looking between the twins expectantly.

The twins grinned mischievously and they each grabbed one of Harry's arms and dragged him back into an alcove. Harry's bags followed obediently behind them.

Harry listened in amazement and awe as the twins showed him the map and explained its abilities.

"See, we'd been hoping to show you the passages into Hogsmeade, but it appears you won't need them for a while yet," George said with a sigh, "nonetheless, there's this one here under the statue of the one-eyed witch, and all the rest are collapsed or useless because Filch knows about them…all these right here, see. And then this one, the entrance is under the whomping willow—what a right waste!"

After the twins had left, Harry remained the alcove for a while longer, staring down at the map the twins had just given him, the amazement of the gift itself combined with the twins' generosity at even handing over such a thing was beginning to wear off subsiding now into a sort of…confusion.

First he wondered what he could even do with such a thing, a few things came to mind…but Harry had never been much of a trouble-maker, especially when compared to Fred and George. He could never do half the things they did, he lacked the dedication, and it wasn't as if that could have escaped their notice.

Then, slowly, a memory bubbled up in Harry's mind, of the conversation he'd overheard two months earlier.

_This_ must have been what they'd been talking about.

They'd seen some names—one they'd thought…one they'd thought was a ghost, but really wasn't and that was troubling to them, but there was another they'd spotted near the forbidden forest? Or was it the willow? Or both? Harry supposed they were close enough together to count as the same entity.

The twins were seeing dangerous things in this map, and now that Harry had it he knew that some of the weird things he'd been seeing were not coincidental…it was clear that the twins hadn't wanted to get caught with the map, so they'd handed it over to him so that he could deal with everything for them. They were probably hoping that Harry would see this "ghost" and take it immediately to a professor.

Harry stared down at the map, scanning it closely, wondering if it was likely that what Fred and George had seen would pop out at him.

Unbidden, Harry remembered the twins' words about the passage under the whomping willow. Feeling a bit frozen, Harry's mind went back to having seen the knea—Crookshanks rubbing up against the tree and then disappearing. Crookshanks had been using that passage to get into Hogsmeade…which meant that Harry probably _had_ seen the big black dog today in that alley.

Could it be that what the twins had seen was connected to the big black dog as well?

It would all bear some looking into for certain, and Harry rolled the map up and headed quickly back to the Gryffindor common room, but when he arrived at Sir Cadogan's portrait, he stopped upon seeing Neville dejectedly standing in the hallway.

"What is it, Neville?" Harry asked in confusion. "Did you forget the password?"

"No, lad!" Sir Cadogan declared cheerfully, "I changed the password two hours ago—security reasons you understand! Why there's a murderer loose!"

"So you're leaving us defenseless in the hallway?" Harry demanded.

Sir Cadogan seemed to be immune to logic and it was as if Harry hadn't said anything at all, Harry frowned and looked over to Neville asking, "Should we knock?"

"Already tried," Neville said with a sigh, "everyone else should be heading back from Hogsmeade soon, so I figure someone will be here soon…I tried McGonagall's office, but—"

"She's in Hogsmeade too," Harry finished. It appeared that they'd be stuck out here for a while yet. Harry sighed and tossed his bag to the floor next to Neville and leaned against the wall, his misery seemed to be gathering up into his forehead to form headache that Harry hoped would go away sometime soon.

"Your practice with Professor Flitwick seems to be helping," Neville commented several long seconds later.

Harry blinked and looked over at Neville in confusion, "How do you mean?"

"You haven't blown up anything recently," Neville replied, with an encouraging smile, "not since you started your lessons with him really."

Harry put his head back against the wall and considered what Neville had said, it did seem like it had been a while since he'd accidentally set something on fire…actually, he believed the last time had been when he'd set Malfoy's robes on fire.

He couldn't remember what happened when he'd gone to Snape's office that night, because everything was all jumbled together and nothing seemed to make any sense. But it worked out that this incident managed to coincide pretty closely with the start of Harry's practices with Flitwick.

"Yeah, that must be it," Harry agreed, though he wasn't sure what caused him to set fewer fires in the past few weeks…maybe Snape had done something to him in the office, drugged him? Maybe given him a potion that increased his magical control?

It didn't really matter. It was likely that Harry would never be able to remember that night.

Then Harry realized, that even though he'd been desperately upset in the Three Broomsticks, and thought that he'd have been able to breathe fire if Snape said something upsetting…he hadn't set fire to anything at all, actually. It seemed Neville and Flitwick were right.

But it made Harry worry that he wouldn't be able to make fire ever again.

* * *

><p>Harry dreamed that rather than throw up in front of the Three Broomsticks, he'd set the entire town of Hogsmeade on fire and from the ashes an entire army of dementors had formed out of the pain and sorrow of all the people Harry had killed. And so Harry burned all the dementors, but then the fire turned green, like it had when Pomfrey had gone through the fire in Lupin's office, and spat him out in the Gryffindor common room.<p>

Befuddled, Harry stood up in the empty common and looked around, before deciding to leave. Out in the hallway sat the big black dog; he stood up on his hind legs so he could shake Harry's hand and thanked Harry for destroying the dementors.

Harry asked him where the suns were, and the dog barked and barked—laughing—before telling Harry they weren't suns at all, they were eyeballs Harry had caught on fire.

Harry jerked awake and found himself in complete darkness…and complete cold. He opened the curtains around his bed, grabbed his glasses from his nightstand, and looked around the dormitory—it was even colder out here. Harry located his slippers and decided to go down to the common room. He was sure there was a fire down there.

He wanted to be around light and warmth. As quietly as possible, Harry slipped out of the dorm and down the stairs and sure enough there was a fire burning…it was low though, but that meant it wouldn't be too hot. Harry's fingers clenched, they felt a bit itchy…and the flames were low. Harry hadn't been burned in this dream either. Not that this dream was, by any means, realistic and he shouldn't really let it influence him in his real life.

Harry couldn't make dementors, he told himself as he approached the fireplace, and Harry probably couldn't even burn the dementors. Harry certainly wouldn't burn down an entire village and kill all its inhabitants, Harry reminded himself as he sat down directly in front of the fire. The only thing he could do was make fire.

And get burned by it.

But Harry remembered, well not really, but probably, gathering up the fire he'd set on Malfoy's robes. They hadn't burned him, they'd just gone away.

Harry held out one of his hands, fingers still nervously clenched, toward the fire. He leaned closer and closer to the flames, until he could feel the intense heat on his knuckles. It felt like he was already touching the flames, honestly…Harry closed his eyes as it began to feel like his flesh was boiling and then he straightened his fingers.

The fire was…

He could feel it…

He could feel it had gone out.

He'd extinguished the fire when he'd touched it.

Frowning, Harry opened his eyes, and silently assessed the burnt logs. It was chilly and Harry left his wand up in the room…He wanted the fire back and he wanted to touch it, and he didn't want the fire to go out when he did.

Concentrating, he tried to force the fire back into existence, only to find that it wouldn't work. It was clear that he still possessed some of the magic that allowed him to make fire or he wouldn't have extinguished the large fire by touching it. Fear jolted through him, and Harry desperately wondered if he could even make fire without a wand now—what had Snape done to him?

Harry closed his eyes and tried to remember what little he could about the tiny fire he'd set on Malfoy's robes. Tried to remember what it looked like and felt like. It was hard though, because he couldn't really remember anything that happened that night, it felt like an alien had reached inside his brain and told him what to think about, but hadn't told him what to remember.

Groaning, Harry snatched his glasses from his face, and pressed his palms against his eyes. He wanted to touch fire; he wanted to touch it now!

But it wasn't looking like it would happen tonight, Harry decided with a sigh and he reached for his glasses, before deciding it was far too cold to remain down in the common room. He'd be better off in his cold bed, with his cold blankets, than he would be without them.

Harry, shuddering from the cold, hurried back upstairs.


	22. The Duke

**_Many, many thanks to everyone's that's reviewed the story-I'm glad you liked what I wrote and I thank you for your criticisms, I tried to take them into account!_ ** Sorry for the massive gap in updates, I made this chapter super long to kind of make up for it. Hope it was worth the wait...

**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Duke**

Sunday dawned slow and lazy for Harry. He'd somehow managed to sleep through everyone's departure from the dorm for the winter break, and he'd gone downstairs to find Ron gorging himself on chocolate frogs while reading the cards that he'd found in their packages. Hermione was delicately curled around a book in a large, well-cushioned chair.

Harry slid down to join Ron on the floor, and Hermione cleared her throat to get Harry's attention.

"About yesterday," she said slowly, "I know you're upset—"

"Not as much as you'd expect," Harry interjected, "I'm fine, honestly, I am. That's hardly the worst thing I've heard about," Harry's throat closed up a bit on the words, but he managed to stutter them out, "my parents."

Hermione looked a bit taken aback and she tried again, "Harry, you were so upset that you _threw up_."

"I had too many sweets," Harry corrected as he snatched one of Ron's chocolate frogs and bit off its head. "That and the butterbeer upset my stomach."

"Well, whatever it was," Ron said with a sigh, "she just wants you to promise to not try to track down and kill Sirius Black for killing your mum and dad."

"I promise," Harry said rolling his eyes, "cross my heart."

Ron blinked in confusion at Harry's words, and Harry used it as an opportunity to steal another chocolate frog. Hermione looked confused, as if she'd added every ingredient exactly right, but somehow ended up with a chocolate cake instead of a calming draught.

"Besides," Harry replied with a rakish grin, "_if_ I wanted to kill Black why would I bother tracking him down? Wouldn't it be way easier to wait for him to come to me?"

Hermione groaned and threw her hands up in exasperation.

"There you have it, Hermione," Ron said with a snort, "he swears he won't go chasing after Sirius Black."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, and he held out the card that came with the chocolate frog for Ron. Ron looked it over and then shook his head, confirming he already had that one. "We going to go for lunch?"

"Nah," Ron replied with a wide wave of his arm indicating the pile of candies, "got plenty of stuff here."

Hermione looked like she'd rather starve to death than eat candy for lunch and though Harry wasn't averse to gorging on candies; he'd also like a sandwich or something. Maybe some soup because the chill of winter was still present in the common room—even the large fire couldn't chase off all the cold.

Which reminded Harry.

"Wanna see something neat?" Harry asked and he jumped up onto a couch and began snatching some of the lower-hanging candles floating overhead.

"What are you going to do?" Ron demanded, and Harry handed some of the candles he'd collected to Ron.

"Light them," Harry replied, and he jumped to pluck one more candle from the air, "and I'll show you."

Ron placed each of the candles in a line on a nearby table and began lighting each one.

"Harry, you sound like a muggle magician," Hermione informed Harry without looking up from her book.

Harry knelt down beside the table and waited until Ron was finished lighting each candle.

"Okay, I hope this works," Harry breathed and he reached out to touch one of the tiny dancing flames.

It disappeared into smoke on contact, and Harry grinned up at Ron who looked very impressed and watched with no small amount of interest as Harry ran his finger through the top of the flames of the remaining candles and they immediately went out. Harry glanced over at Hermione who had been watching over her top book, her eyes smiling.

Ron touched his wand to each of the candles and relit them again.

"So how'd you figure out you could do this?" Ron asked as Harry tapped each flame and put them out.

"Came down to the common room, and accidentally put out the fire in the fireplace," Harry replied.

"Please tell me you didn't stick your hand in there." Ron squeaked out, looking a bit white and he gulped as he shot a wary glance at the large, roaring fire.

"I did," Harry agreed, "I wanted to see if it would burn me, and obviously it didn't."

"Probably because you didn't want it to burn you," Hermione informed Harry, "did you ever think about that?"

Harry hadn't, but maybe Hermione had a point there. Harry had felt the heat of the fire on his hand and was deeply worried it _would_ burn him.

"So you think I'm putting them out because I'm scared they'll burn me if I touch them?" Harry asked her as he swept his finger through the last flame and it too extinguished.

"Probably," Hermione agreed, "and why are you having Ron light the candles, why don't you do it yourself?"

Harry ducked his head and swallowed, "I don't know what happened when I was with Snape…"

"You probably just convinced yourself you can't make fire anymore and so you can't," Hermione primly informed him. "So, easy solution: use your wand."

Harry still felt ashamed that whatever happened robbed him of his abilities, it had felt so natural to create flames without his wand—a perfect extension of his anger and frustration. Logically though, Harry knew he couldn't go around starting fires any time something annoyed him, and he certainly couldn't go around starting fires in his sleep whenever he had a disturbing dream.

And there was another thing:

"I had a strange dream," Harry confessed, "about the big black dog."

Ron grinned as if Harry had told some kind of joke and he was now waiting for the punch-line.

"The what?" Hermione asked and it was interesting enough that Hermione put her book down and gave Harry a disbelieving look.

Harry cleared his throat and explained, "You know how I'm always writing about dreams I have about the Grim for divinations?" Hermione's eyes narrowed, "They're all my actual dreams."

"So you dreamed that you fell asleep on the Grim's back, while a fire burned next to two suns?" Hermione asked dubiously.

"Yes," Harry confirmed, "and this dream the dog was there but the suns weren't so I asked him where they were and he said that they weren't suns—they were eyes that I'd caught on fire."

"Creepy," Ron said with a shudder.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "but this dream was different because the big black dog was acting like a person—he always acts like a dog, you know."

Ron hummed in agreement, but didn't seem concerned. He'd lit one of the candles and was idly passing his fingers through the flames, watching the way the fire dance around his fingers as they moved.

"Wait, so," Hermione said, putting her book down and shuffling to the edge of the chair to stare at Harry, "if all these things you've been writing about are your actual dreams…then you've been having some really strange reoccurring dreams this whole school year."

Harry nodded his agreement, "They've been getting stranger and more vivid here lately, before they seemed more like…memories, almost."

Harry decided not to mention that some of them _were_ memories.

A soft squeaking noise came from Ron's pocket and Ron immediately reached for it to soothe Scabbers of whatever was distressing him.

That reminded Harry.

"Have you seen Crookshanks lately?"

Ron's pocket quivered and Ron shot Harry a glare for mentioning the cat that must not be named in Scabber's presence. Hermione's brow furrowed and she looked a bit taken aback—that was a no then.

"You know," She said slowly, "I don't think I've seen him since the night before last."

"Because he went to Hogsmeade," Ron informed her, "we saw him there."

Hermione narrowed her eyes in disbelief, "oh come on, there's no way…"

But there was a way, and now Harry knew exactly what way it was.

"Harry saw him first," Ron replied, "right, Harry? It was Crookshanks."

"It was," Harry agreed firmly, and he used his fingers to mime walking, "just walking down the street like he owned it."

"Sir Crookshanks of Hogsmeade," Ron agreed with a serious nod.

"_Duke_ Crookshanks of Hogsmeade," Harry corrected.

"The Duke," Ron repeated, "pity he couldn't get us a discount at Zonko's or—"

"—Free butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks—"

"— and I'm surprised he didn't bring you sugar-free candies from Honeydukes," Ron sighed.

"I hear the Duke knows the owner," Harry chimed in helpfully.

Ron gasped in shock, exclaiming, "I've heard that too!"

Hermione was doing an impressive job of holding in her laughter, chiding, "You two are having me on."

"It was Crookshanks," Harry told her firmly, "in Hogsmeade headed towards the shrieking shack."

"But," Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion, "why would he be there?"

"There's a passage," Harry explained, "under the whomping willow that goes into Hogsmeade and," Harry paused when he heard violent squeaking from Ron's chest pocket. Scabbers was violently twisting around and apparently scratching and biting Ron in alarm. Ron scrambled out of his shirt and wrapped it around on itself to contain Scabbers.

Ron was breathing deeply and staring at Harry in deep confusion, as if trying to decode Harry's words to figure what he was saying that would cause such a reaction from a rat.

"And what?" Hermione asked, also watching in alarm. Her scientific mind wouldn't allow her to go without knowing the answer to what was going on, what was upsetting Scabbers so much, "What else Harry?"

Harry felt as if he were incanting some sort of dark spell. It reminded him of some movie Dudley had watched where they'd used a Ouija board to contact a demon—Harry felt like he was waking up some sort of evil magic that only Scabbers, an animal more in tune with nature than humans, could detect.

"I saw Crookshanks by the willow, he disappeared behind it and never came back out," Harry finished, "he's using that passage to get into Hogsmeade, and I guess I never told you Hermione, but the big black dog is real and Crookshanks had been hanging around him."

Ron froze and asked, "You mean that kneazle I saw with it…?"

"Has to be Crookshanks," Harry confirmed, "something weird is going on around here."

They all looked down to where Ron was holding his tangled shirt and watched Scabbers squirm around inside of it.

"Beginning to rethink keeping him in your pocket?" Hermione asked.

"I don't have anywhere else to keep him," Ron replied.

Three trays popped up near the fireplace, and startled the three of them—Harry felt as if his heart had stopped for a second and then thudded back into action, and Hermione dropped her book she jumped so forcefully. Each of the trays was each loaded down with a hearty stew, a chunk of bread and contained a goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Looks like they missed us at lunch," Hermione gasped out and her hand, in an apparent nervous habit, crept up to wrap around the fine golden chain she'd been wearing most of the year. Harry briefly wondered why she'd started wearing the thing; she hadn't ever been one for jewelry before…or maybe it was just that she was a girl and girls liked pretty things, even the practical ones.

"Here Scabbers," Ron wheedled softly as he scooted over to one of the trays, "calm down little guy, nothing to be scared of here, want some bread?"

Ron tenderly unwrapped his shirt and tore off a piece of bread to try and lure the dismayed rat out.

Harry took one of the trays and balanced it in his lap and watched as a tiny pink nose emerged from Ron's shirt, followed by tiny little rat hands that took the piece of bread and promptly retreated back into the folds of the shirt.

Hermione took her tray and placed it on the table that Ron had placed the candles on and began eating her stew.

"Maybe I should be more careful about Crookshanks," Hermione said softly, "keep him locked in my room during classes so that Scabbers will feel safer?"

"Or I could take Scabbers to class with me," Ron suggested, "can't keep the Duke away from his subjects after all."

"We'll figure something out together," Hermione promised, "it's not right for a little thing like Scabbers to be so terrified all the time."

The tiny pink nose peeked out again, followed by a little rat head and Ron tore off another bit of bread to feed to the rat.

"Then he'll be fine again in no time," Hermione added with a smile.

* * *

><p>After lunch, Harry grabbed a blanket and went to sit in front of the fire, staring into it.<p>

"So what are we even going to do for the whole break?" Hermione asked, "We can't stay up here the whole time."

"Sure we can!" Ron proclaimed helpfully as Scabbers curled up on his thigh to sleep, "No reason to leave since we have kitchen service!"

At first impulse, Ron's plan seemed perfectly feasible and Harry could think of nothing he'd rather spend the holidays doing than playing chess and exploding snap while eating chocolates in front of the common room fireplace. Then Harry realized that would get dreadfully boring and from what he'd heard almost no one had stayed behind for the holidays this year, there were all sorts of things they could do without attracting the notice of the professors.

Not to mention that Harry was not going to spend the two weeks he had away from Snape's lair cooped up in another room, even if the common room was _home_.

Harry wanted to enjoy his free time.

"Maybe we could go see Hagrid," Harry suggested after wresting free of his thoughts. "I bet he wouldn't mind some company."

"There's an idea," Hermione agreed, "We haven't seen him outside of class for weeks!"

"And we can go flying after," Ron suggested and he turned a mischievous grin on Harry, "it'll be an even match since we'll all have to use school brooms."

Harry gave him a two-finger salute which made Ron laugh so hard he knocked Scabbers off his leg.

Hermione shook her head with an affectionate smile and murmured, "I'm not sure that's a good idea, but maybe if we invite Hagrid along…"

"I don't think he'd mind," Harry replied with a smile. "He'd probably be happy to keep us out of trouble."

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, it seemed Hagrid wasn't in much of a flying mood and actually Harry was frightened to even mention flying for fear that the half-giant would cry so much that he'd flood his cabin—like what happened in that one cartoon Dudley watched once before Aunt Petunia saw what was on the telly and shut it off while screaming about freakishness.<p>

But that was something else entirely…

"Surely you can appeal," Hermione suggested softly, "I mean, you warned everyone to not insult the hippogriffs at the beginning of class and Malfoy directly went against your warnings…" She bit her lip and looked out the window, even though Buckbeak wasn't in sight, "There must be something we can do…"

Harry didn't really know what to think or do so he simply sat, with his hands covering his mouth and stared at the candle on the table.

"Didn't you just meet the minister?" Ron demanded, "How could you meet the minister and have them still try to kill Buckbeak?"

The flame on the candle seemed to move in time with Harry's heart, and the fire in the hearth seemed to be too hot. Fang twitched in his sleep and rolled over onto his back, legs twitching as if he were running upside down.

"I jus'," Hagrid hiccupped and sniffled and snorted, "don' think it'll make a difference, why shoul—they won' listen ter me!"

"It's like in the muggle world if a dog attacks, the circumstances don't matter," Harry sighed, "the dog has to be put down…"

This sent Hagrid into fresh hysterics. Hermione looked to be a curious mix between enraged and understanding and Ron was turning a fancy shade of puce previously unseen…it didn't take Harry long to realize that was probably the worst thing to say in this situation...hands down. Guilt churned through his stomach and Harry could feel all the blood draining out of his face. His mind spun as he tried to figure out what he could say to fix his slip of tongue.

"Maybe you're right, Harry," Hermione sighed and Ron looked about ready to explode from their apparent betrayal. "But hippogriffs are more intelligent than your average," Hermione glanced over at the sleeping Fang and cleared her throat, "_muggle_ dog—surely we could provide testimony to try and prove that Buckbeak was provoked and ordinarily wouldn't be a danger?"

Harry cleared his throat and hurriedly added, "I mean, I didn't mean we should give up or that Buckbeak deserves to die! I rode him and everything and didn't have any problems! Obviously, Malfoy's the problem here—"

"As per usual," Ron finished crossly.

"We'll figure something out," Hermione assured Hagrid, "I've done a bit of reading on laws regulating magical creatures—"

Harry couldn't help but remember how well that had gone the last time, when she'd approached Harry about Lupin being a danger to everyone in the school. However, she'd become convinced that Lupin was harmless if she was planning to ask him for advice, no matter how awkward it would likely be for the professor. Perhaps, she would be able to take whatever she read with a grain of salt now.

"—we've been covering them in Defense as well." Hermione seemed to also remember the conversation about regulations regarding werewolves because she paused and murmured thoughtfully, "Maybe Professor Lupin would be able to help me with my research..."

Hagrid gave Hermione a rather teary look of suspicion, but he didn't seem to find the implication of her awareness of Lupin more concerning than Buckbeak's impending death. Also, Hagrid wasn't really one to stop their crusades for justice _or_ one to deny things he knew to be true.

"I bet," Harry said clearing his throat and gazing helplessly between Ron and Hermione, "he's probably in his office now and we could try to get his opinion on the matter…"

Hermione immediately agreed and did her darnedest to keep her relief from showing on her face, "You're probably right! The sooner we get started the longer we'll have to fight for Buckbeak's life—"

"Yeh would do that," Hagrid exclaimed and fresh tears began falling at their offer, "yer such good kids, always tryin' ter do th'right thing!"

Hermione's face crumpled into a flattered, shy smile and she said, "Oh, Hagrid, any decent person would fight for the life of an innocent—"

"'E is innocent!" Hagrid wailed in agreement, "Beaky would never hurt anyone! Animals just need ter be treated with love an' respect!"

They stayed until shortly before dinner was set to begin in the great hall, and Hagrid encouraged them to go in-between wails and hiccups. Ron didn't look keen to argue, especially as Hagrid hadn't been in much a condition to prepare his usual rock-hard cakes. So they bid Hagrid farewell and promised to find out what they could do to help.

Once outside they walked in silence and the only noise was the sound of their feet hitting the snow, for a long while until Hermione let out a long and loud sigh and Harry was sure he could detect a both relief and remorse in her tone, "_Oh my_…"

"Yeah," Ron agreed with a gulp and wide eyes, "I didn't know what to do—"

"Should have made tea," Harry groaned and shook his head, "no one made tea—"

Ron snorted and rolled his eyes as he teased, "Okay Trelawney…"

Harry shoved Ron hard enough to make him stumble, but Ron merely laughed it all off.

Hermione cast a _tempus_ charm and shook her head, "I'll see if I can bring it up, in a not obvious way to Professor Lupin during dinner. He probably won't go to his office after…"

"I'll tell you one thing," Ron sighed and he kicked at the snow on the ground, "that at least _I'm _not stupid enough to say _in front of_ Hagrid—the Department of Control of Magical Creatures isn't really known for their leniency…we probably won't be able to do much of anything, even with expert help…"

Hermione made a kind of strange face, a cross between pain and the face he made upon walking into the heavily perfumed divinations classroom, but Ron didn't seem to notice the look on her face and continued, "The ministry just likes to keep the people separate from the beasts, you know, and when they mix and especially in when a beast attacks they try to make sure no beast will want to mix again…"

It took a couple of meters before Ron and Harry realized Hermione had stopped walking and was merely standing in the snow looking as though she'd been petrified again. Harry and Ron shared a look and plodded their way back to her and once Harry was close enough; he could practically see her mind working through her eyes.

"I believe," She said finally once her brain was able to reallocate energy back to her mouth and limbs, "that we may have to rethink our Buckbeak strategy…"

Harry wasn't sure that Hermione should be left in charge of Plan Buckbeak if the crazed look in her eyes was anything to go by. Her plan promised to be a bit crazy and dreadfully clever and probably on the verge of breaking the rules…

* * *

><p>The five tables in the great hall had been replaced with just one, and Hermione took advantage to seize a seat next to Professor Lupin. At first Professor Lupin had a strange look on his face, one that if on Snape's face would have looked natural. He seemed reluctant to speak to Hermione at all, and as if she were a sort of undercover agent looking to incriminate him in a crime that he may not be able to produce an alibi for.<p>

However, Hermione continued speaking to him softly, but fervently and Professor Lupin began to respond after looking around the table warily for a second. After a while though, he stopped glancing around, and turned slightly in his chair so he was facing Hermione so he speak with her in earnest.

Snape took look at the two of them and seemed to immediately conclude that this was all Harry's doing. He stared at Harry as though the reason for Hermione and Professor Lupin's conversation was written on Harry's face in invisible ink and Snape's inky eyes were the only thing that could make the words reappear.

Harry wanted to chuck gravy at Snape until the man finally decided turned away or left.

"You gonna eat that?" Ron demanded nodding his head at Harry's plate. Harry dropped his fork into the gravy he'd been pushing around on his plate and then shook his head.

"Nah, you can have it," Harry replied and he pushed the plate toward Ron who promptly dug in.

"So like I was saying," Ron said as he spewed bits of beef all over the table. "He could do it without even trying all morning—"

"Would you mind demonstrating, Mr. Potter?" Flitwick asked in excitement and wheedled, "This could be the sign that our lessons have become unnecessary…"

Though Harry hadn't been paying any attention to their conversation at all, it was fairly easy to deduce what they had been talking about. Harry pushed himself up to his feet and swept his fingers through all the flames on the nearest candelabra. Their half of the table went dim and all attention at the table went straight to Harry.

Snape's accusing glare was still fixed upon Harry as Flitwick excitedly clapped and exclaimed over Harry's newfound ability.

"Could you re-light them?"

Harry ducked his head in a bit of humiliation and was sure that he was blushing horribly, "…that I've been having some problems with…"

Only Snape seemed to find this admission terribly interesting and continued to stare at Harry as though he were a puzzle and the missing pieces were hidden somewhere on Harry's robes.

* * *

><p>Hermione had wrangled Crookshanks into her lap and stroked him into a half-asleep, purring ball of orange. So that no matter when Scabbers peeked his nose out of Ron's pocket, Crookshanks wasn't overly keen to pursue…though that didn't stop Crookshanks from watching the rat with one intensely focused eye.<p>

Hermione propped her book open on the arm of the chair she had settled into and Ron deposited himself into the half-eaten circle of chocolate frogs he'd begun constructing this morning. Harry plopped down onto a nearby couch and stared at the candles they'd placed on the table this morning, they hadn't been relit. In fact, nothing in the common had changed at all since they'd left to go see Hagrid…that was strange, well maybe not _strange_. There were no other Gryffindors staying for the holiday, after all, so there were no people to move things about. But it was certainly _different_.

Almost as if they were living here all by themselves.

Hermione cleared her throat and Harry realized he was still staring at the flameless candles. Abashed, he jerked his head over to Hermione. She was studying him in a way that meant she hadn't begun reading her book at all because she'd been too preoccupied with something else.

She cleared her throat and ventured, "…So what you were saying at dinner…"

Her expression was more suited for staring down the side of a cliff than facing any sort of conversation with Harry, which was kind of funny and Harry wondered if he was smiling a bit. He hoped not, that would be inappropriate…

"I didn't say much of anything at dinner," Harry reminded her but Hermione wasn't very impressed with that answer and pursed her lips in disapproval.

"You know what I mean," Hermione sighed out finally, "you really think you can't make fire wandlessly anymore, right? That sort of ability isn't just something that just disappears, you know."

Harry didn't say anything and continued to stare at the burnt wicks of the candles he'd just put out.

"…it's ridiculous," Hermione informed Harry, "You're being ridiculous."

"You don't think Snape did something to him?" Ron asked, "Seems like something Snape would do."

"Oh honestly," Hermione huffed and then she put her book down to stare at Harry the way he imagined a goblin would look at a coin. Harry waited for her to speak and then she sighed and asked, "So you really think you can't make fire anymore? Even though you obviously still retain some of your abilities, normal people can't put out fires by touching them, remember?"

"Snape did something to his brain, remember," Ron reminded her.

"You agreed," Harry reminded her, "you thought he did something to my brain, and whatever he did made it so I can't make fire anymore…Right…?"

Hermione looked as though someone tried to tell her she had incorrect form while performing a spell and shook her head, the corners of her lips twisted up into the barest hint of a smirk.

"I think you're wrong," she firmly declared, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I think you're doing this to yourself, or maybe the wires in your brain just got crossed and we need to get them all straightened out. I think it's something that you can fix if you just try."

"Wire?" Ron muttered, his face blank in confusion, "What does crossing wire have to do with anything?"

Hermione pointedly ignored Ron and his lack of knowledge concerning electricity. She dropped her book to the floor, pushed Crookshanks to the floor making the sleepy cat yowl in surprise, stomped over to Harry, and shoved her hand in front of Harry's face. It looked like she was trying to get him to spit out his gum, honestly, and then she shook her hand a bit when Harry didn't comply, "Well, give me your hand!"

Harry placed his palm flat against hers and felt a bit weird realizing that he was now holding Hermione's hand. Harry couldn't really remember ever holding her hand, honestly, it was strange and her fingers were cold and scratchy from handling old books all the time.

"Now close your eyes," Hermione instructed, "I'm going to try something."

Nervously, Harry closed his eyes and Hermione slowly pulled his hand until his arm was fully extended and then she kept pulling. Urging him off the couch and onto the floor, she was giggling and her laughter was a bit infectious as Harry awkwardly, blindly crawled one-handed across the worn and matted rug on the floor.

She, and apparently Ron, got Harry settled so he was sitting on the floor where they wanted him and Harry supposed his eyelids must have moved a bit too much because a cool, scratchy palm was pressed against his eyes.

"No looking," Ron bade Harry. There were some indistinguishable whispers and for long moments, there was no sound but the fire and Ron's candy wrappers sounding closer than they seemed like they should.

Hermione seized his hand again and twined her fingers between his and held it aloft. There was a strange thud and the soft sound of Hermione and Ron trying to muffle soft laughter. Ron and Hermione fell silent after that and Harry shifted on his knees after his feet began to go numb.

"Can you feel anything?" Hermione asked suddenly with an air of scientific curiosity. "Anything at all?"

"Nope," Harry easily replied, "why?"

"Experimenting," Hermione brusquely reminded him, and Harry was sure she was distracted by whatever interesting data she was observing, "I'll tell you in a second."

"How about now?" Ron demanded and his voice seemed like it was coming from behind him and Harry jerked away in surprise—sitting here with his eyes closed wasn't all this fun and his arm was beginning to go numb from being held up at such a strange angle for so long.

"Still nothing," Harry replied, "are you guys even doing anything?"

Harry could feel that Ron and Hermione were having a silent conversation, and it made the back of his head itch a bit.

"Well, all right then," Hermione sighed sounding a bit disappointed, "you can look."

Harry opened his eyes and saw his hand, clasped with Hermione's, engulfed in flames from one of candles that Harry had been playing with earlier that morning.

"Can't feel anything?" Hermione teased with a smile. Her face was flushed and glowing with excitement from having her hand caught on fire, "Nothing at all?"

Ron was perched just behind Harry and was leaning over Harry's shoulder to stare intently at the fire that was burning around Harry and Hermione's hands. Ron's hands were clasped tightly in his lap and his fingers were twitching a bit…actually all of Ron was twitching. It was pretty clear that Ron wanted to have his hand caught on fire as well.

"Try it," Harry breathed out, and it was difficult to not worry about Ron getting burnt because Harry had no clue how he was keeping the fire from harming both him and Hermione. He had no clue how they'd even managed to ignite Harry's hand in the first place. There was no way Harry had of knowing that he would be able to expand the fire to engulf Ron's hand as well.

Ron's trembling fingers reached out slowly and Harry nervously warned, "Slowly."

Just inches away the flames curled out and wrapped harmlessly around Ron's fingers and, confident now, Ron placed his hand over Harry and Hermione's and a huge smile split his face. Harry could feel the mirror to it on his own face, this was amazing—he was actually touching the fire and Harry was in total control…somehow. No one had gotten hurt and even though the flames had been supplied, Harry had somehow provided enough fodder to encourage a lot of growth.

But that wasn't enough…

"Can you let go?" Harry asked as he looked between Ron and Hermione, "I just want to see…"

They both removed their hands and the flames remained around Harry's own hand, curling and swaying. Harry pulled his hands away from the candle and the flames remained, wrapped around his hand delicately like candy floss. Harry moved his other hand up so that the fire was cradled between and around both hands…now he just needed to figure out how to control and sense the fire in the first place.

It didn't take Harry long to figure out that when he held the fire it was easy to mold it like clay, he could compress or expand it; make a tiny fire explode out between his fingers to re-encompass his hands. Once he'd gotten the feel of the fire in his hands with a bit of concentration and bit of _"hotterhotterhotternowokaypleasework"_ he could control the temperature.

Hermione and Ron watched all of this as though Harry was a fascinating show on the telly. Harry had to remind himself to not be self-conscious, that he did magic in front of other people all day long. This should be no different.

Harry closed his eyes and was pleased that he could still feel the warm flames running through and around his fingers. It really did feel like candy floss or maybe spider web—barely substantial and a little bit sticky. More than that with his eyes closed like this and the fire safely held in his hands, he could _feel_ how every motion could affect the flame when before he'd only seemed to be watching it—make it larger, smaller, hotter, snuff it out completely…

Every part of him and even some of the space around him felt poised, tensed…just waiting for the movement, the thought that would affect the flame. His entire body was a match just waiting to be struck.

How could it have taken him so long to figure all this out?

* * *

><p>"We have a vastly different definition of studying," Hermione declared as she carefully placed her recently finished book on the top of the text pyramid that Ron and Harry had built up in the hours since the candles in the common room went out.<p>

Course that hadn't stopped Hermione from continuing to read by wandlight even though Harry had offered to try and relight the candles.

"I think you mean holiday," Ron replied and at Hermione's confused look, he further explained, "we have vastly different definitions of holiday."

Hermione was not amused.

This was apparently because she was bored and didn't have another book to read.

"I need to go to the library," She declared, though Harry was certain he detected a hint of a whine in her voice.

"So go," Harry suggested with a shrug as he began work on a magazine tower.

Hermione shifted her weight in a manner that suggested she wanted to stomp or maybe to kick over the house Harry and Ron were building and then she pointed to the window and informed him, "It's the middle of the night! The library won't open until noon because of the break…"

"When has that ever stopped you?"

Then Harry realized that this was Hermione's strange way of asking Ron and Harry to go with her. Harry wondered if they would eventually be dragged along to the loo with Hermione as well…maybe she didn't realize they were blokes? Course wasn't Hermione always complaining that they never realized she was a girl?

This whole gender confusion thing clearly went both ways.

Ron groaned, his body going limp and collapsing onto the floor in despair and pain caused by the thought of going to the library, "Do you think sneaking in will make the library more fun?"

"Only one way to find out!" Hermione said cheerfully and she looked expectantly to Harry.

"Right," Harry agreed in response to her silent request, "I'll just go get the cloak then."

* * *

><p>In the still of the night with the glow of the snow shining in from the windows it was impossible to tell that the school was nearly empty. The empty hallways still felt way too big and every sound still felt like a week's detention even though Harry was sure none of the professors were actually patrolling…though Filch was likely still roaming just out of principle.<p>

As they neared the corridor that led to the library, Hermione suddenly grabbed Harry's wrist and most likely Ron's as well and began pulling back.

"Wha—"

"Wait, shh," Hermione hissed softly and then Harry heard it.

Footsteps.

The three of them stood completely silent and waited to see if they'd be passed over by whoever was in the hallway.

The noise came to a halt.

Whoever was out had heard them and was likely suspicious…Harry swallowed nervously and it sounded like he had a microphone pressed against his throat and now the gulp was echoing through the corridors.

"Har-Hello?" Came Professor Lupin's voice. Ron's eyes went wide and he mouthed 'Harry' in disbelief. Harry turned to look at Hermione and her eyes were narrowed and had her head tilted as though she expected to hear something more, but hadn't just yet.

Professor Lupin arrived at the corner of their hallway and stood at the entrance for a few moments, carefully studying the hallway for any sign that they were actually there. Harry hadn't heard any footsteps in spite of listening very closely, but it seemed that Lupin was a bit of a ninja and capable of moving silently…Lupin also seemed to be able to see through invisibility cloaks as his eyes finally settled exactly where they were standing. Harry had to fight down the urge to move and make sure that every part of their bodies was completely covered.

"Just because it's hols doesn't mean you can be out after hours," Professor Lupin reminded them just as he would remind them to bring extra ink and parchment to class and Harry wondered if he actually expected to get a 'Yes, Professor; sorry, Professor' in return.

Yes, it appeared that Lupin knew exactly where they were and was just waiting for them to admit it…

Until Lupin blinked and began studying a nearby alcove.

Harry's heart began beating again and Hermione's hand pressed into Harry's side and, as one, the three of them silently shifted a couple of steps until they were pressed against the angle of the wall leading into the hallway Lupin had come from. Lupin turned around and held out his hand, slowly moving toward where they'd been standing before.

He hadn't heard then.

The three of them shifted once more and then they were in the other hallway. There was no sign that Lupin had heard that either so they moved a bit more and more.

They made it safely to the library entrance, but they didn't dare whisper the spell to unlock the door until Lupin was completely out of earshot.

It seemed to take forever, but after a while they heard footsteps once more and Hermione hurriedly hissed out an unlocking charm and they fell into the library like they'd been pressed against the door and it had suddenly given out.

Hermione closed and relocked the door and then cast another charm—Harry wasn't quite sure what it did.

"He knew about the cloak," Hermione declared as she threw the cloak off of herself.

"Yeah, no shit," Ron groused and he unveiled himself as well. "He pretty much called _you_ out, out there! Like there wasn't any way that it could be someone else!"

Harry pulled it off of his head and shoved it into his pocket.

"He did say he knew my father, and I'm sure that he's heard about all the trouble we normally get up to." Harry sighed, "I guess we never connected the possibility that my dad had friends he told about the invisibility cloak?"

"So potentially anyone that was friends with your father knows about your cloak," Hermione stated as she approached a bookcase. "That's a lot of people…potentially."

"That's," Ron choked and Harry looked over at him, he was standing still and had gone a bit pale, "Sirius Black."

Hermione looked about as worried about Black as Ron did and she was now staring at the cloak as if it were a lethifold and not her ticket to the library during holidays.

"Potentially," Harry reminded them. "You're probably getting worried over nothing!"

"He was your father's best friend," Hermione countered and her voice grew a bit frantic, "he was supposed to have kept your parents alive—he _has_ to know!"

"Doesn't mean he knows I have it!"

"Harry, he tried to break into the tower…if he—"

"I'll carry it with me from now on."

"No, that's a big risk," Hermione primly plucked a book from the bookcase. "No, what we need to do," she finished with a wide grin and waved the book she held, "is ward your trunk—that way no one can mess with it without any severe repercussions."

Ron looked intrigued as if he had never considered a book to be a harbinger of severe repercussions and suggested, "We should probably practice on my trunk. You know, to make sure that it works and doesn't mess anything up—mine's Bill's old one anyways, you know…"

"You're not fooling anyone," Hermione scoffed and then she sighed, "but yes, we can do your trunk to keep the twins out _and _we'll do mine too—I'm certain Lavender is stealing the sugar-free candy my parents send and I think Pavarti has been hexing my socks."

Harry wanted to ask, but felt he shouldn't.

Ron was staring at Hermione as if he was trying to figure out if she'd actually just said that.

"And Patricia may be wearing my ties because—"

Harry couldn't help it anymore: "_Who_?"

Hermione halted her tirade against her dorm-mates to turn and stare blankly at Harry, "What?"

"Who's Patricia?" Ron said before Harry could repeat her question.

Hermione continued staring at them and repeated, this time with feeling, "_What_?"

Then Hermione dropped her head into her hands and groaned, before lifting her head and explained to them, her tone suggesting that they'd become even more dense in the last two seconds than they had been for the last two years combined: "You know how when we have Gryffindor only classes, there's this girl that you've _obviously_ never paid any attention to. She has brown hair and blue eyes and sits next to Amelia...Amelia who you've _obviously _never paid any attention to either! Honestly, there are two girls in Gryffindor _in our year_ and you've _never_ noticed them?"

"Well, it's not like they play quidditch or anything," Ron offered with a shrug.

"They aren't annoying like Pavarti or Lavender," Harry agreed, and then he realized "I would think…since that's the only reason we know Pavarti and Lavender…"

"See, so it's a compliment, really!" Ron explained further.

"Just like you only noticed me because I was annoying," Hermione queried, there was nothing off about her tone of voice, but her face looked like a bear trap ready to snap in their faces and Harry looked at Ron with alarm, hoping to warn him from saying something stupid.

"Nah, we only noticed you because you tried to fight a troll on your own," Ron said with a mocking eye-roll and Harry was amazed that Ron had managed to find a bit of tact around the foot he had constantly inserted in his mouth. "Not even Harry and I were that stupid—we only tried to trap it, remember?"

That kept them from getting caught in the bear trap and made Hermione grin like she only did on Christmas and after they'd gotten out of dangerous situations alive, somehow…again. She affectionately muttered something about boys and how there was no putting up with them and wandered over to the closest bookshelf signaling the end to their conversation.

Ron looked around the library with his lips curled in distaste and was clearly regretting his decision to join them here. Then Ron's eyes fell on a candelabrum placed right in the middle of one of the empty tables and he turned to Harry with a mischievous grin to ask, "Wanna set stuff on fire?"

Harry cracked his knuckles and felt the echo to Ron's grin on his own face, "Always."

* * *

><p>"Oh my!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly and Harry and Ron looked up from their collection of burning candles, "We have to go!"<p>

Then Harry realized that the light in the library wasn't coming solely from the candles anymore.

"What time is it?" Harry demanded and he stood up to begin searching for his invisibility cloak.

"Late enough that we could probably walk around without the cloak," Hermione lamented in a quiet wail.

"Early enough," Harry corrected, "late enough it's become early enough."

"Except we're still in pajamas," Ron reminded her, "though it is hols so we won't get in trouble for breaking the—what is it again?"

"Code of appearance conduct," Harry supplied with an eye roll.

"Then let's go to breakfast like this," Hermione declared with the air of a pajama-clad queen giving an official decree and then ruined the effect by pulling on the bottom of her red and gold striped pajama top.

"What?" Ron demanded in shock, "but—but—what?"

"When there are no rules, I have no problem breaking them," Hermione said with a grin. Then added, "And when rules are stupid I don't have a problem breaking them."

"Or when breaking rules stops Voldemort," Harry added.

Ron flinched so hard it looked like he was dodging a book being thrown at his head, but he managed to recover enough to quip, "Or when you run out of books in the middle of the night."

"Okay, so I ignore rules about as much as you two do," Hermione said with a grin, "but nonetheless, let's just go to breakfast—I'm hungry and I know Ron is too."

* * *

><p>None of the professors said anything about the three of them showing up to breakfast in their pajamas, though Snape looked like he dearly wanted to chop Harry up for ingredients simply to keep him from walking around in pajamas<em> ever<em> again. Then there was McGonagall who kept giggling into her tea like a schoolgirl every time she looked at them and their Gryffindor pajamas and Dumbledore looked as though he'd planned the whole episode and was pleased that it had gone so well.

Harry began, and felt that it was probably warranted, to worry that Dumbledore would begin wearing horrible nightshirts to breakfast for the rest of holiday.

Professor Lupin arrived late to breakfast, but just in time to grab the last bit of toast which he slathered with a disgusting amount of marmalade—it reminded Harry eerily of Dudley and that made Harry realize that he hadn't even thought about Dudley in ages. He had been too distracted by the incident with Snape and the dementors and setting everything he could on fire.

The candles floating above the table flickered softly before going out and being replaced with bright rays of sunlight.

Snape stared at Harry as though he was solely responsible for the sunlight brightening the breakfast and table, and that combined with the pajamas seemed to be Snape's limit for the day. The man stood up, cast a glare to both Harry and Professor Lupin, and swept from the room his robes fluttering from his fast pace.

"We should go outside later," Hermione suggested Harry, but it rather sounded like another pajama-queen-decree instead of a suggestion.

"To the pitch," Ron agreed and Harry felt a bit out-numbered even if he was agreeable to the plans. Then Ron jumped up and declared, "I'm all done, let's go ahead and go—quidditch waits for no man, after all!"

Professor Lupin cleared his throat and stood up as well, catching Harry's eyes, "Mr. Potter," the use of the title and his last name immediately made Harry believe he was in trouble. Maybe Lupin _had_ actually detected them last night and since he'd not caught them then had decided to catch him now, "I wished to speak you."

Harry reminded himself that there were many things that Lupin could want talk to him about and only one of them was wandering about after hours during a school holiday. Though that was hardly reassuring as Harry stood about in the great hall in his slippers and pajamas…Harry shifted and wondered if he should say something or if the silence had already spoken for him.

Ron and Hermione were vacillating by the door and Hermione looked particularly nervous about Harry being stopped by Lupin the night after they'd nearly been caught out…and Harry couldn't quite fight down the memory that Lupin _knew_ about the invisibility cloak because he'd nearly called Harry by name before even seeing him out.

"Come with me," Lupin added and then seeming to sense Harry's nervousness, he gave a small smile and waved Harry along. Harry tried to reassure Ron and Hermione with the expression on his face as they passed, but it didn't seem to do much and that may be because Harry was grimacing rather than smiling…and then he and Lupin were alone in the hallway.

Lupin cleared his throat and said, "I wanted to ask you about your detentions with Professor Snape—does he often keep you out past ten."

"Sometimes," Harry warily replied with a shrug, "yeah, I guess."

Lupin made a noncommittal noise in his throat, but just continued walking and looked straight ahead while asking, "What does he normally have you do?"

"Schoolwork," Harry lamented, "mostly brew potions until they're right."

Lupin began to study Harry more intently as if there was some small writing on his forehead that needed to be deciphered before nodding at whatever that secret message said and murmured, "Like lessons…"

"No," Harry immediately corrected, because he knew the difference even if Lupin was too old to remember, "like _detentions_."

"Of course," Lupin agreed easily, his tone calm and soothing. It had the curious effect of making Harry both comforted and a bit angry…weird. Maybe it made him angry because it seemed like Lupin didn't actually believe him and was just trying to make him shut up about it?

It was then that Harry realized they were walking through the dungeons and they were dangerously close to Snape's office.

"We're not going to Snape's office _now_, are we?" Harry demanded feeling more nervous than he had when he thought he, Ron, and Hermione were going to get in trouble for being out after curfew. "Because—"

"Now's as good a time as any," Lupin informed Harry, "You did want to stop Snape from giving you detentions right?"

"Yes, but in a way that didn't involve Snape!" Harry squawked and it was a squawk, because his voice cracked and went _really_ high like Hedwig when she was desperately trying to get extra bacon in the mornings. Harry could feel himself flushing in embarrassment and immediately ducked his head so that he wouldn't have to look at Lupin's incredibly amused face for longer than absolutely necessary.

It was great, really, just great that Harry was able to provide so much amusement to the professors this morning.

"He won't hurt you," Lupin said with a chuckle that sounded forced and Harry could hear Lupin's unsaid words: 'Today, with me here, at least.'

They came to stop at a door that Harry had never noticed before though it was near Snape's office and classroom, but it was apparently their intended destination because Lupin knocked twice on the thick, wooden door and waited a few moments for a response. When there was none, Lupin pulled his wand from a pocket in the inside of his robe in one smooth motion born of years of habit and began murmuring softly at the lock until it gave a soft click. Lupin pushed the door open and revealed what must be Snape's private lab.

Snape was fully focused on a potion and had managed to completely ignore the knocks and Lupin forcing the door open. That they would be interrupting his potions would make Snape even angrier than he would have been otherwise and Harry hadn't realized that he'd ducked behind Lupin and tried to run away out of terror until Lupin caught him by the arm and pulled him back around. His other hand fell gently to Harry's neck, just below his hairline and was used to steer deeper into the labyrinth of cauldrons with the feeling of a man being walked to the gallows.

"Professor Snape," Lupin greeted, though Snape hadn't completely noticed that they had invaded his private territory. "I wished to speak to you about Harry's performance in my class. He's exhibited some behavioral problems of late."

Snape brushed a bit of powder into the potion which turned a deep black and began bubbling.

Harry shifted his weight nervously and he could pretty much feel how amused Lupin was at Snape's deep involvement with his potion. Clearing his throat and speaking more loudly, Lupin tried again: "Professor, I've become concerned with Harry's performance in my class."

Something about that managed to get Snape's attention and the precise movements faltered for just one half-second. Lupin released his gentle hold on Harry's arm and neck and moved a few steps away, raising his voice even more and annunciating each word carefully as if Snape was an old man and Professor Lupin just needed to speak slower and louder to get the message across.

"I'm _very_ _concerned_ about Harry's performance in _my class_," Lupin repeated, this time apparently getting the secret code just right because Snape's head jerked up in surprise and he looked between Lupin and Harry as if they were numbers needing to be calculated.

When Snape reached whatever conclusion all factors added up to, he snapped his wrist and his wand dropped from his sleeve into his hand. The movement of Snape's wand caused the air it touched to turn a violent orange and his muttered incantation seemed to make the lazy orange swirls jump to attention.

It was the spell, the magic coming out of the air to do the bidding of the spell. Harry watched the magic gather together to form a flat disc which delicately settled on top of the cauldron, like a lid. A little magical lid to keep the potion safe while Snape worked…the only thing unusual about it was that neither Snape nor Lupin seemed to see the spell at work.

Snape placed his wand back into his sleeve and turned his full attention to Lupin, and his full attention seemed to be a bit peeved and wary all at once. Snape crossed his arms, hands retreating inside of his sleeves, and said, "So what is it you propose I do, Lupin? I am also _very concerned_ about his performance in my class."

Harry would have to be deaf and blind to miss the amount of sarcasm that accompanied Snape's "concern"

"I suppose you would find it acceptable if Harry showed up to your class fifteen minutes late wearing his robes from the day before—"

"The boy's failings are not my responsibility—"

"I believe they are," Lupin retorted immediately and forcefully. It was the first time Harry had ever heard Lupin allow any negative emotion into his tone when addressing Snape. Normally, he seemed to almost fear Snape flying into a burning rage and was trying to use his tone as a way to fight the fire of Snape's anger.

Snape's eyebrows straightened into a line and he seemed to consider what Lupin said or maybe he was just as taken aback by the tone as Harry was, but it was becoming certain that they were speaking in some kind of code that only they could understand.

Snape's voice was completely resigned, even if his stance hadn't changed a bit, when he asked, "What sort of intervention do you wish from me?"

"Harry has already retrieved a student handbook from the deputy headmistress, so he's taken action to correct his misbehavior," Lupin replied. "I need for you to enforce things from your end, by refraining from keeping him for private instruction past say…nine at night? Or perhaps give him time apart from your direct supervision to complete assignments for you."

"Very well, Potter, all of your future detentions will begin immediately following the evening meal," Snape declared.

Harry wasn't sure that losing all of his free time in the afternoon was much of an improvement, but settled for sulking silently.

Neither professor seemed to notice. Snape leveled a defiant look at Lupin and asked, "Acceptable, Lupin?"

"Certainly," Lupin agreed easily and then he fumbled for something in his pocket, before producing a parchment, "You know the drill."

Frowning Snape looked around and upon spotting a quill, retrieved it and signed the parchment that Lupin had placed onto a nearby desk. And if that wasn't strange, Harry didn't know what was. What kind of meeting was this anyways? Why was Snape signing papers about Harry's behavior and detentions?

"Now, if you don't wish for me to poison you I suggest you leave me to work in peace," Snape growled and then he seemed to realize where they all were. "You will _never_ interrupt me in my private laboratory ever again, is that clear, Lupin?"

Lupin blinked and had a look of surprised innocence on his face which served to make Snape bristle like the hedgehog that Dudley had found once and poked with a stick until Aunt Petunia shrieked at him to leave it alone before he caught a nasty disease. "Oh," Lupin said and his tone perfectly matched his expression, "Is that why the door was locked?"

This time Lupin didn't stop him when Harry bolted from the room.

Harry made it a quarter of the way back to the main hall when he stopped and realized that if he didn't ask Lupin what he'd just witnessed he'd probably never remember to ask. Now that the blind terror was leaving him, Harry felt more confused now that the bizarre meeting had concluded than he'd felt while watching it happen…so he stood in the hallway and waited for Lupin to emerge from Snape's private lab.

When the professor finally did he blinked in surprise upon seeing Harry waiting for him.

"All right there?" Lupin asked Harry with a smile and it was one of the smiles that managed to make him actually look his age—apparently he got some enjoyment out of harassing Snape.

There was no accounting for taste, really.

"Not really," Harry replied and nodded at the door to Snape's lab, "I mean…what was that? What just happened?"

"I thought it fairly obvious," Lupin replied and he tilted his head in confusion, "something of an intervention. You'll have no more late nights with Professor Snape and maybe even fewer detentions—mission accomplished, right?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed but something still felt kind of off about the whole thing…but he couldn't really place his finger on it…it was almost like…

* * *

><p>"A parent-teacher conference?" Hermione exclaimed in amusement, "That's exactly what it sounds like! My mum and dad had one with McGonagall before this year so that I could take my extra courses."<p>

"You mean _all_ the extra courses," Ron interjected. Then he shoved a chocolate frog in his mouth and asked around it: "So what, Lupin's your dad now?"

Harry choked on his own spit or maybe words that couldn't be spoken while Ron and Hermione laughed at him.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said when he could finally wheeze out words. He managed to roll his eyes after a few moments and added, sounding incredibly unconvincing to his own ears, "Lupin, right."

"But that's good, really," Hermione said with an approving smile, "maybe you'll get fewer detentions since you'll be getting more sleep."

Of course.

Because that's how that worked.

Not that Harry wanted to explain to them how it actually was…

"Probably so," Harry agreed when he realized he should probably say something and that was the something that came out of his mouth without any thought. Then cleared his throat and was suddenly desperate to change the subject, "I thought we were going to go outside."

"Yeah, but then Ron and I decided we'd rather just stay in our pajamas all day."

Considering that they didn't manage to stay awake until lunch the pajamas turned out to be a good idea. They only woke up when dinner appeared with a soft pop that startled Ron from a nightmare about exploding spiders.

"No dessert," Hermione lamented with a sigh once she finished her chicken and leaned back against her chair.

"I'm all out of candy too," Ron agreed and then they both looked toward Harry expectantly.

"Don't look at me!" Harry exclaimed waving his hands about as if he were trying to scatter a group of particularly stubborn vultures, "My candy got mixed in with Ron's!"

"Ugh," Ron groaned, "if only the twins would show us the way to the kitchens!"

Harry felt awkward knowing that he had access to the object that had shown the twins where the kitchen was, but he didn't quite want to share it. It was probably for the best, Harry knew, and he ducked his head so that he wouldn't look overly guilty or upset if Ron or Hermione happened to look at him too closely. There was something dangerous about the map and Harry wasn't sure that he should share it just yet…and if there was something dangerous then Harry wasn't all that sure who he _should_ show it to.

Of course neither did the twins, they just wanted to hand it off to Harry so that they wouldn't have to deal with it…whatever it was.

…It wasn't that Harry didn't want to share it with Ron and Hermione—eventually, he would definitely show them. What good would the map be if he didn't have anyone to use it with after all?

"We'll have to ask them later," Harry agreed, "we'd never have to worry about missing meals ever again."

"I don't know," Hermione sighed, though her arguments seemed more obligatory than heartfelt. "We'd probably get in a lot of trouble if we were ever caught."

"Probably no more than the twins get into," Harry reminded her, "a couple of detentions never hurt anyone."

"They actually build character from what I've been told," Ron added with a mischievous grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed a mass of hair over her shoulder while she chided them, "You two sound like Filch…or Snape!"

Ron turned to look at Harry in exasperation, "Now she's complaining about us being rule-conscious adults! We can't win!"

Harry guffawed before he could help it—that was just _too_ ridiculous! Hermione glared at Ron in complete disbelief, probably because she didn't like being the brunt of a joke that she'd unwittingly set herself up for. Then she huffed and grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at Ron's head.

Though neither she nor Harry were prepared when Ron grabbed another pillow and chucked it back at Hermione. Hermione let out a frustrated half-shriek and dropped her book to the floor so that she could stand up and launch an all-out pillow attack on Ron who used his wand to flick all the cushions from a nearby couch across the room. One hit Harry and it felt more like he'd been knocked over by a mattress than a couch cushion and once he was able to figure out that he was on the floor and not badly hurt Harry grabbed a cushion and used it to ram into Ron. The two of them fell into an armchair and their weight knocked it over—which serendipitously ended up blocking Hermione's decorative pillow assault.

The waged all out pillow war until Hermione noticed that the fire had dimmed and the candles above them had gone out. Exhausted, the three of them dug up some blankets and piled on top of the displaced pillows to go to sleep.

* * *

><p>Harry was woken by the portrait hole opening at some point in the night, Harry cracked open one eye to see who could possibly have opened it as they were the only Gryffindors remaining for Christmas.<p>

There was a near-silent whisper and then soft wand-light appeared and bathed the invader in light. The light didn't seem strong enough to be of much use, but it would likely prevent the head of Gryffindor from tripping and falling while checking out the common room.

McGonagall crept closer. It almost seemed like she was on tip-toes trying to keep from making any noise and waking them. When she got close enough Harry closed his eyes and continued to feign sleep so that the deputy headmistress would be forced to wake him if she wanted him to move.

"I should be surprised," McGonagall murmured with a soft chuckle once she'd checked to see who all was sleeping in the common room. Then she whispered a spell and waved her lit wand and Harry felt another blanket settle heavily atop him. Another word from McGonagall made the fire rise from embers into warm flames to drive off the overnight winter chill.

Harry settled back to sleep since it was clear he wouldn't be moving for the rest of the night.

A smile crept across Harry's face when he realized this meant that he, Ron, and Hermione could spend the rest of the break in the common room and not get in trouble…Then so that McGonagall couldn't see his smile and get suspicious, Harry burrowed into his blankets a little.

* * *

><p>Harry mumbled a bit and rolled over, but fell and landed on a crunchy pile of paper. He blinked blearily and looked around him—the common room had been returned to its usual state at some point in the night and Harry had been moved onto a couch…at least until he'd rolled over and fallen off.<p>

"Wassat?" Ron demanded as the common room fire cracked and grew from soft embers into flames. Harry could feel the heat of the fire across his skin and it felt like if he reached out a bit more, he'd feel it on his skin like warm candy floss.

"You can't be in the girls' dormitories," Hermione sleepily chided them.

Then there was a sound of a giant flailing spider and piles of cloth flying everywhere and more paper crunching and then Ron exclaimed with the same victorious tone as he would a point for Gryffindor, "_Christmas_!"

There was more crunching paper and Harry realized that he was responsible for some of the noise because he'd fallen into his own pile of presents. Ron had detangled himself from his blankets, found and unwrapped the parcel containing his Christmas jumper and was now wearing it. Harry rolled off of his presents so that he could seek out the lumpiest one which would surely contain his own knitted jumper. Harry began tearing into the paper on the jumper as Ron finished opening all of his gifts and began to go through them to see what he'd actually received.

"Harry!" Ron gasped, breathless with excitement, "Hermione! Christmas!"

Hermione followed Ron and Harry's example and also went for her jumper once she'd woken up enough to realize that she wasn't in her own bed. Harry noticed that, as per usual, there were some sweets in with the sweater and he slipped them under the wrappings to keep Ron from noticing and eating them before Harry could...that was how Harry noticed that there was a large, long gift hidden under the smaller packages from Ron, Hermione, Hagrid and the _especially_ tiny one from Dursleys.

Harry wanted to chuck it into the fire and see what color the gift would burn.

He settled for viciously tearing into the large package and violently displacing all of the other gifts.

"What's that?" Ron demanded around a large bite of one of the sweets his mother had sent.

"Dunno," Harry replied as he balanced the box across his lap and began sliding his fingers around the side to separate the lid, "trying to find out," Harry finished as he managed to slide his fingers in between the cardboard and he pulled the lid up. He hadn't even gotten the lid entirely off before he could see exactly what was contained within. Harry stared down in shock, his fingers fell almost instinctively down to touch the hard lacquer of the finish and he realized that neither Ron or Hermione could see what he'd received so he tossed the lid to the box aside.

"A _Firebolt_!" Ron exclaimed, food falling from his mouth in shock, and his mouth moved in complete awe for several seconds before sound was produced again, "No way!"

Hermione was staring at the broom in confusion though as Ron shuffled his way over and took the box from Harry to examine it more closely, exclaiming, "I can't believe this! Who sent it?"

"No card," Harry replied as he ruffled the torn wrapping paper to make sure nothing had fallen from it.

"That's," Hermione said testing, "a good broom right?"

"It's the _best_ broom!" Ron retorted, "Aren't you always complaining about us never listening to you? Do you ever listen to us?"

"Ron, seriously!" Hermione insisted, "Isn't it quite expenisve?"

"Yeah, just like Harry's old Nimbus was," Ron replied, "well…comparatively speaking…"

"Yes, so who would spend that kind of money on Harry?" Hermione demanded, "There's no note! Harry, you don't know who it could be from! This is really dangerous," Hermione's voice grew more fervent as she continued speaking, "remember first year—you almost died, and this broom could be jinxed to do the same thing. I've been doing some reading and Sirius Black was very wealthy and everyone knows you play quidditch and that your broom was destroyed—"

It was really difficult to push past the sickening lump in his throat, and to ignore the feeling of his stomach turning into a hard rock, but Harry managed to say, "I think I know who it's from."

Hermione looked as though she'd been ready to cast off any of Harry's possible excuses…except this one, "Wh—you do?"

Harry nodded slowly because it seemed if he moved any faster his head was liable to fall off, his whole body felt as though it was only just barely held together because everything was becoming unraveled.

"And I don't think they'd jinx the broom," Harry croaked out, and he decided he couldn't say more than that right now because all he could think of was his broom getting jinxed first year and how it'd turned out that Snape had been trying to undo it the whole time, it would be counter-productive to give Harry a jinxed broom now.

Hermione's forehead was furrowed deeply, and Harry knew she would probably ask thousands of questions that Harry just wasn't willing to answer right now…and Ron, well, he looked like he wanted them to just have it all out and be done with it so they could go try out the Firebolt before dinner.

"Who do you think it's from?" Hermione asked, and Harry wondered if she thought adding the "think" would hopefully make it sound like Harry didn't know what he was talking about.

"Where do you think my glasses came from?" Harry countered, "I didn't arrange for them, I didn't pay for them."

Hermione looked even more taken aback by that than she did about the broom, which Harry could understand. He wore the glasses all day, every day

"You never once asked where they came from," Harry told her, and was kind of shocked by the amount of anger that came out of his mouth. He took a deep breath and tried to bring his anger back under control, "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to sound like that."

Hermione looked a bit stunned and Harry sighed, his face falling a bit, and he could feel the tension leaking from his shoulders.

"Of course," Harry sighed, "Dumbledore checked them over for hexes-it only took a second, but they were just fine. The broom has to be from the same person- because like you said Hermione," Harry frowned deeply, and he couldn't help but sound a bit bitter repeating the words, "who would spend that much money on me?"

Hermione went a bit pale and her mouth moved soundlessly for long moments as she realized how horrible her words sounded, and what they implied.

"The solution to all this is clear to me," Ron declared his voice overly cheerful and he was clearly trying to break the tension in the room—he knew that there was tension because his face was a bit pale and anxious in spite of his tone, "I'll try out the Firebolt first, that way it'll take me out before it can kill Harry and I'll die happy!"

"Ron!" Hermione gasped in outrage.

"True friendship right there," Harry snorted, "using threats on my life so that you can get the first go on my broom!"

"Well, I would have suggested Hermione have the first go, but she's rubbish at flying," Ron exclaimed, "so the duty falls to me!"

"No, no," Hermione exclaimed and she looked a bit desperate as she tried again, "Harry, you said Dumbledore checked your glasses-don't you think he should do the same with this broom? You said it only took a second..."

Harry could tell that if he said no one more time, that she would drop it, but she also seemed really desperate to protect Harry and...He couldn't understand how she could let it go so easily even though it really bothered her. It didn't really make any sense at all.

Harry frowned and stared down at the broomstick, his excitement over its arrival had drifted off into a permeating nausea that _Snape_ could have sent this to him. The glasses Harry could understand-he needed them and there was no way he could have replaced them otherwise, but a broom didn't make any sense. Snape wanted him off the team and under house arrest in the castle until Black was caught...giving Harry a broom wouldn't lend to that crusade.

Maybe Harry should hand it over to Dumbledore, but he didn't want to, what if there was some way to tell who had sent it, and Dumbledore discovered that it _was _Snape—Harry didn't want anyone else to know.

Harry suddenly realized that there was someone besides him and Snape that knew the truth.

"I'll take it to Lupin," Harry told Hermione, "he's the defense teacher so he should be able to tell if it's cursed."

Hermione looked incredibly relieved and Ron didn't look overly concerned now that Professor Lupin was doing the looking over rather than Dumbledore or McGonagall.

"Well, let's get this thing taken care of so we can go try it out!" Ron exclaimed, grabbing his tattered dressing robe and stepping into his too large and faded slippers. "Come on, come on!"

He grabbed Harry and began herding both him and Hermione to the common room.

"This is gonna be the best Christmas ever!" Ron breathed out.

Harry was happy that Ron considered Harry's new broom his own, because it would be terrible if Ron had turned out to be jealous. It was so hard to tell how Ron would react to any stimulus.

* * *

><p>"And so you brought it here?" Lupin said, measuring each word carefully and cautiously as if he were making a potion which would explode in his face if he did the wrong thing.<p>

"Yeah, because you're the defense teacher," Ron chirruped and he heavily plopped down on the chair in front of Lupin's desk, without even blinking, Lupin took his wand and lightly flicked it before laying it back down on his desk. The chair expanded to its couch form, providing enough space for Hermione and Harry as well.

"You want me to check it for curses before you try it out," Lupin sagely nodded and said, "very responsible of the three of you, I'm quite impressed. I'll see what I can do, but from what you're saying there's a fifty-fifty chance of it being cursed?"

Hermione looked entirely too pleased with herself, if she'd have been a bloke and Harry were more violent he would have decked her. He settled for glaring at his lap for not thinking things through.

"Right," Harry said nodding and he sat down on the couch beside Ron. "Honestly, I don't think it could be from Black, how would a criminal be able to walk into Gringotts and get money?"

Professor Lupin shook his head as if remembering something, but didn't say whatever he was thinking...simply fixed his attention on the Firebolt.

Checking for curses on a broomstick didn't seem to be as quick a process as checking for curses on glasses, or maybe it was just the difference between having Dumbledore check and having Lupin check. Lupin spent, what seemed like twenty minutes, carefully turning the broom over and over in his hands, staring carefully at every detail on the surface of the broom. Only once that was done, did the professor reach for his wand and begin to magically scan the Firebolt.

This seemed to take an hour, at least, and Harry couldn't keep from fidgeting and Hermione looked like she wanted to fall asleep and probably would soon. And Ron, well, Harry could hear his stomach growling.

Finally, after a million years, Lupin put his wand down and shook his head, holding the broom out to Harry saying, "Congratulations, looks like you have someone looking out for you."

Harry couldn't contain his glee, and quickly took the broom from Lupin's hands-Ron had jumped up beside him and was waiting for Harry to say the word so they could go running out to the pitch.

Ron excitement about the whole situation had been contagious and a driving force behind Harry's own happiness in receiving the gift, so Harry turned to him and said, "Wanna have the first go?"

Ron's eyes went huge and round like white and blue saucers, and he slowly and reverently reached for the broom, "You mean it?"

"No, I'm going to change my mind as soon as we get to the pitch," Harry scoffed sarcastically, "of course I mean it! Let's get out of here!"

Ron whooped and went running over to the door, Hermione was grinning as she slowly moved to follow behind him, and Harry remembered something before he did the same thing, "Thanks so much for checking the broom out, Professor, I really appreciate it!"

"Again," Lupin said with a soft smile, "I only did what anyone else would have done."

Harry darted over to the door, and Ron flung it open, the three of them had nearly made it out into the hallway when Lupin called out, "And Harry, I'll be expecting you every Tuesday evening for your lessons."

Ron was right; this was the best Christmas ever.


End file.
